


When I Saw You Again

by Avengethestory



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Almyra (Fire Emblem), Basically what happens after VW by tying everyone's epilogues together, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, First Time, Fodlan's Throat, Friendship, Garreg Mach Monastery (Fire Emblem), Gen, Investigations, It's mostly story focused but E Rating for a reason, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, POV Multiple, Politics, Racism, Rare Pairings, Slavery, Slow Burn, Using pairing I got in my first playthrough, Violence, post-epilogue, post-epilogue character art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 82,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avengethestory/pseuds/Avengethestory
Summary: Hilda and Cyril were once wyvern riders who fought side by side for the Liberation Army. Five years have passed since the war has ended, and they haven't spoken since, until a happenstance brought them back to Garreg Mach.What should have been a simple reunion of old friends quickly revealed an attraction that neither expected to have, and as they came to realize how much they actually meant to each other, the country faced new threats endangering their short-lived peace...This is a story told from the eyes of Hilda and Cyril as we see how the Garreg Mach students get to those endcards after the conclusion of the Verdant Wind Route.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Hilda Valentine Goneril, Caspar von Bergliez & Cyril, Cyril & Ashe Duran, Cyril & Lysithea von Ordelia, Cyril & Marianne von Edmund, Cyril & Seteth (Fire Emblem), Cyril/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Hilda Valentine Goneril & My Unit | Byleth, Hilda Valentine Goneril & Seteth, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Lysithea von Ordelia, Marianne von Edmund & Hilda Valentine Goneril, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21
Collections: Paint Fodlan with Verdant Green





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ooookay this is my first ever fanfiction and I honestly didn't think I'd give this a shot, but here we are!
> 
> I played Three Houses starting Golden Deer at launch and had surprising pairings that I actually came to like! Hilda and Cyril was one of the biggest ones I did NOT see coming, but I love that the romance actually happens naturally after they've come to mature. The longer I thought about it, the more interesting I found it, because damn they are complete opposites! I HAD to write out how it happens!
> 
> I should note that while these two are the main pair, there are couples already established at the start, and others will develop over the course of this fanfic. I'll update the pairings once they show in the story. 
> 
> And finally, about the rating. Most of the story is plot and character driven, but at the end of the day these are two adults, so their interactions can become... _adult_. They are sprinkled here and there, although not so much until very late in the fic, so be warned. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril and Hilda see each other.

No matter what happened, all the people eventually returned to Garreg Mach at some point in their life. The grand architecture blossomed from the height of the hills with its tall protective walls, but typical of time’s bitter tricks, the monastery revealed its age in the finer details. The revered bricks told the stories of successful defenses against the imperial invasions, the crevices bedecked with floral rainbows to commemorate the transition to a unified Fodlan. The verdant winds coursed through the grounds, cooling the Knights of Seiros in the midst of their sparring session, picking up speed as it rose through the winding path between the towers and pushed through the gates to whistle over the caravan line that marched toward the monastery.

\+ + +

Hilda of House Goneril entered the gates with her small team of exhausted soldiers, staff and merchants cheering behind her when they finally secured their rich line of goods within the safety of the walls. The cobblestones were a soothing welcome to her soles after the treacherous journey on the uneven terrain. She longed to rest on the stacks of sacks cornered on the market stable, but alas, her advisor pushed her to keep going. One of the gatekeepers was already rushing to the church to announce her arrival, so she didn’t see the reason to hurry. After pointing that out her advisor gave in and let her waltz off.

Hilda instinctively navigated through the center of the monastery and admired how much, yet so little, of the place had changed. It was difficult to illustrate how many students and knights she had to pass through before she eventually found herself in the courtyard, but it was then that she realized that it was the beginning of the school cycle. Students were still unburdened from work and used the time to mingle in crowds that made sure to leave little room to wander around without being bumped by shoulders and elbows. Defeated, Hilda retreated off to the stalls. She often avoided them in her younger days due to the musky smell, but she figured it’d be a comfort to reminisce either way, especially when she discovered that it was much less populated. It seemed that unless you were a lover of horses or were tasked to tend to them, you’d not likely find yourself here.

Hilda stopped in her tracks when she overheard people talking in the stalls. It wasn’t as if she usually cared about other people’s conversations, but it was the deep voice strumming to the sound of the ground being swept that perked her ears… _could it be?_

“It was nice to catch up with you, Cyril. I gotta head out for class though, bye!”

“See ya.”

A young man dressed in a cleanly ironed uniform rushed off and waved behind him. It was odd to see so many new faces in the school grounds. She poked her head into the shed to confirm the voice, and saw a tall figure clearing the hay off the area. The man had broad shoulders, with dark, curly hair tied into a ponytail and a bow bound by the waist. Hilda couldn’t identify the build until he turned around to put down the broomstick. She gasped just as he looked up and noticed her at the door.

“Hilda?” Cyril blinked.

“Cyril! It’s really you!” Hilda stepped in to look him up close. Their short encounters since the war were limited to gatherings their friends invited them to, and those interactions were barely long enough to properly see him. Now she finally had a chance to look him up much closer. He had changed since their battle against Nemesis, and he wore an attire fit for battle. His coat resembled Shamir’s from her time at Garreg Mach, and the Seiros emblem was etched into his shoulder armor. All of that didn’t matter though in comparison to his physique that stimulated a singing in her stomach when he straightened up and turned to her. She tilted her head up to face him.

“Can say the same thing about you, Hilda,” Cyril smiled brightly. “I didn’t think you’d walk in on me in the sheds of all places. What brought ya over to Garreg Mach?”

“I am here for a visit. It has been a while since I’ve been here, so I was exploring the monastery. Honestly, I didn’t expect to find you here chatting with the students.”

Cyril shook his head. “Nah, the kid you just saw started in the Golden Deer House in my last year before I graduated. He’s hitting his senior year now.”

“He called you leader,” Hilda grinned with both brows raised up.

Cyril grimaced, holding back a shy grin. “Yeah, Seteth appointed me as the leader of the Golden Deer. Doubt I was any good at it though compared to Claude.”

Hilda hummed. “To be fair, Claude was hard to contest with.”

“Yeah.” Cyril shrugged.

“So you’ve been here this whole time?” Hilda asked as she watched him continue sweeping.

“Nah, I just showed up for a visit too.” Once the floors were cleared, Cyril turned to her. “I’m a Knight of Seiros working with the former Kingdom of Faerghus. Just got back yesterday. I wanted to check on the steeds and… well, old habits die hard I suppose.” He grinned crookedly and leaned against the broomstick. Hilda wondered if he realized how cute he looked, trying to impress her.

It had been years since Lady Rhea passed away, but she could imagine that it wouldn’t deter Cyril from his dutiful devotion to the monastery. She was guilty of overhearing Shamir’s final lecture to him that emphasized that there was no debt he had to worry about, and later again when Seteth reminded him that Rhea would have wanted him to have his own happy life. But Cyril didn’t respond with absolute agreement. He felt anything that wasn’t a basic need a luxury and therefore a waste of time. Last she saw of him he was promised a fully funded education for his avocation, so he remained as the last member of Claude’s group when everyone split up.

“But Cyril, is there really nothing else you could have come up with to keep yourself busy? It’s not like it’s your duty to clean this up.”

Cyril chuckled. “Ahh… listening to you makes it feel like the good ol’ days.” He had been shuffling around with his arms on his hips, as if searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” Hilda asked, browsing around.

“The horses and pegasi seem to be thirsty, so I wanted to collect some water from the well. But I can’t find the buckets.”

There was no choice but to giggle at that. “Guess the usual spot has changed, huh?” After a quick look around, Hilda walked over to the end of the stalls and pulled them out. “Found them!”

With a thanks he took them from her hands, but she pulled another two for herself. Cyril was amused. “You wanna do work with me?”

Hilda shrugged. “You look like you need a hand.”

“Thanks Hilda,” Cyril smiled, surprisingly not pointing out her initiative, and took the lead to the well. During their trip they caught up on each other’s endeavors: Cyril graduated from the school shortly after them and quickly joined the Knights of Seiros. When he heard that Ashe was ascending to be the head of House Gaspard, Cyril transferred over to assist him via the Western Church, dropping by on the regular and exchanging letters as an advisor until Ashe built his footing as a ruler. With the Great Tree Moon halfway through its cycle though, it was time to begin the preparation for Lady Rhea’s death anniversary. Byleth, the current archbishop and ruler of the United Kingdom of Fodlan, requested all the knights to collect to the monarch for this occasion. He was sure that it was not only for the celebratory functions but also to prepare for possible ambushes by remnants of Those Who Slither in The Dark.

Hilda on the other hand set up an academy in her own region. As it was near the border, it was an academy that not only served to tutor the sons and daughters of the former alliance houses, but also to invite new bodies into the system. With the help of Claude, the freshly enthroned leader of Almyra, Hilda was able to build a program that enrolled well-regarded students from across the border. It brought some uproar at first, but Byleth’s push for stronger relations to the outside nations made Hilda’s academy a perfect initiative, so when she gave her blessing the critics quieted down. As gratitude, Hilda had come by to put in a donation to the church and to catch up with her former professor.

“I’m surprised that you would be holding your own academy,” Cyril mused.

Hilda grabbed the pulley and retrieved her filled bucket. “I didn’t think I was much for it either to be honest, but I discovered I have a knack for it. I actually got the idea after what you said back when we were students…”

“Huh? What did I say?” Cyril raised a brow. They carried their filled buckets back.

“I think you said how nobody minded to help me out. I think that’s when it first clicked.”

“Uh-huh…” Right, that was about the time when Cyril was still annoyed by her. It was clearly meant as a complaint, but Hilda was good in spinning things around.

“And then there were the lessons. Remember how Byleth requested us to teach axe wielding?”

“Well, you were supposed to teach that, but because you kept whining we took turns on that. …Yeah, I can see what you mean. You were more passive in your lessons, but you pointed out what forms worked on us and encouraged to improve on those. You didn’t do the heavy lifting, but we still improved.”

“Exactly! My praises get the people moving, and it seems to work on my students too.”

Cyril nodded in fascination. “Huh. So you being lazy actually paid off.”

Hilda bumped him with her shoulder in response. He did not recoil, which said something given Hilda’s strength.

“I guess it’s not so bad. You’re very good with people,” Cyril said, smirking at her from the side. Hilda never noticed before how dangerous that smile was. “I mean, it worked on me.”

It took all her energy not to gape like a carp. “Wow, it’s quite rare to hear you compliment. It makes you sound like a grown up.”

“Duh, I am an adult.” They returned to the shed and started pouring out the water into the trough. “It has been five years since the battle against Nemesis after all.”

“Five years…how time flies. That makes you 24 now, right?”

“Yeah, my next birthday is coming soon though, then I’ll be 25.”

“Wow. I still remember how we fought side by side on our wyverns.”

“Yeah, we were quite the duo, weren’t we? We singlehandedly cleaned the entire area of enemies with our axes.”

“I suppose, though I miss the days when we tended to our rides more,” Hilda sighed as she shook out the last droplets from her bucket.

“You say that, but I clearly remember me doing most of the work while you were petting them.”

“Come on,” Hilda stomped her foot. “I would have been a hindrance. Plus, it kept Myrtle and Catria calm enough for you to change the saddles.”

Cyril laughed and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Yea, you said the exact thing that back then too! That was annoying, but at the same time… it was fun. A partner like you never kept me calm.”

 _Huh?_ Hilda tried to fight back the blush forming in her cheeks; maybe it was the feeling of his calloused hand against her bare shoulder. After all, a remark such as his shouldn’t cause that reaction, since it was something she easily brushed off before (as Sylvain would vouch based on their flirting exchanges), but it felt different coming from Cyril. There was something sincere in their relationship that she didn’t have with her exes, so the sequences of implied comments made her delve into potential thoughts she never had about him before.

Cyril noticed, and quickly pulled back his hand. “Did I say something wrong? Lysithea did mention that I can be a bit unaware with what I say.”

“Ah, no, it’s nothing! I just came to realize that you’ve become so handsome.” _Hilda, what are you saying?_

“Ya look prettier too, Hilda,” Cyril responded nonchalantly. He definitely didn’t take Lysithea’s words to heart.

“Oh, you probably say that to every other girl too.”

“No. Of course everyone has changed since we left Claude’s army, but you changed in a mature way, y’know?” Cyril said and reached for Hilda’s hair that draped her shoulder. “And I missed our little banter. Annoying, sure, but it was also… nice.”

Hilda wasn’t sure what to make of it. She was frazzled as Cyril trailed her hair with his hand, leading over to her collarbones. Hilda placed her hand over his before he went further down. “I missed you too.”

Their eyes focused on each other and time stood still. Hilda was lured in by the depth of the orange that his long lashes hooded over. The scar over his right eyebrow was prominent even with the long strands of hair. He was a child no longer – his simple touch made that clear.

The neighing of one of the horses whipped them back into reality. Cyril pulled back his hand and stepped out.

“Uhhh, so yeah. I’m gonna head over to the dining hall. You…wanna come?” Cyril asked.

Hilda should be heading over to the church ground. Dusk has set and Byleth must be waiting for her. But something about those carnelian eyes drew her in, and she wanted to know why. She returned to her signature smile and followed him. “Of course!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where urges are starting to show.

It was hard for Cyril to resist staring at her. Hilda was always beautiful with the way she carried herself. She had a noble air around her that didn’t seem to break down, but unlike the girl who smiled delicately at her peers, she now looked at them with the eyes of a powerful woman. She was dressed like a noble with her smooth cloak, but it was a practical length that wouldn’t hinder her if she had to draw out a weapon. The second she spoke though, Cyril’s uneasiness of meeting an estranged friend melted away. She was still herself with her million questions and flowery compliments.

On the other hand, Cyril couldn’t stop picking her apart with his eyes. She was curvaceous were it counted, and her exposed shoulders hinted of the trace of muscles that her feminine image was trying to hide. While he was carefully glancing over her, he noticed Hilda analyzing him unabashedly. Now he felt self-conscious. He could sense her piercing eyes running over him. He was the youngest among the Golden Deer team when he joined, so he was always conscious about his age. Although he was confident of his growth into adulthood, Hilda’s reappearance pulled him back into his younger self.

That was, until Hilda made a comment on how he’d grown into a handsome man. _Ugh, how embarrassing. She is treating me like a child!_ Cyril wanted to run off with the buckets and pretend that mopping the halls would take precedence. But he shouldn’t; he needed to show that he was now her equal. “Ya look prettier too, Hilda.”

Her blush was so cute. And her hips swayed when she waved off his compliment. And her hair looked so soft, he wanted to touch it –

Hilda gently placed her hand over his. “I missed you too.”

Cyril didn’t realize that he actually reached out for her. But she didn’t brush him off. Hilda’s pink eyes softened as she smiled at him. Her gloves were silky against his hand. How he wished to feel the skin under that cloth…

The horses neighed and it snapped him out of his trance. What was he doing? He was acting like a buffoon, especially with Hilda, who he never saw this way. He quickly recovered and stepped out into the cooling air. He realized that evening was turning in. Did Hilda eat yet?

He invited her over to the dinner hall and to his surprising delight she accepted. He wasn’t sure why this warmth was brewing in his core, but he welcomed it.

The hallway was rich with the scent of herbs and the bustling of uniformed young students scouring for tables. The servings were hefty large bowls of soups for the long line snaking out the door. After receiving his meal, Cyril picked up two bread pieces and followed after Hilda, who turned away from the tables and slipped out toward the stony outlook facing the fish pond. She settled on top of the ledge and waved him over with the tilt of her head. He sat down and passed her the bread.

It was a quiet sundown. The crowd was thinning down below after the evening bell rang. Cyril nibbled at the bread and observed the new fixtures that were erected after his time as a student.

Cyril was so focused in his observations that he didn’t notice Hilda until her pink hair entered the corner of his vision. Never mind the changes of the monastery itself, the lady of House Goneril somehow managed to become even more beautiful over the years. She carried herself more elegantly without relying on being cute, even when her hands were folded around the rustic bowl on her lap.

“Cyril, I didn’t think you became so picky with your food,” she smirked, pointing at her own empty bowl with a spoon. He didn’t realize that he lost track of time, and flush with embarrassment, drank his neglected soup straight.

Hilda gaped at him in shock. “You’re _starving_! I should have saved you my bread. You needed it more than I.”

“Oh no, I was just trying to finish it before it got cold is all.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I gotta say though, after having Ashe’s cooking, nothing else seems to be quite as good.”

“Right, you stayed with him for a while. I’m super jealous that you could taste his meals every day.”

“Yea, you say that until you see the days when he wants to bake. For the life of me I can’t understand how he has so much trouble with it, especially when Mercedes visited and helped. It came to a point she would bring a backup batch for us knights when it didn’t turn out right.”

“Is that so? You don’t come off as someone who’d say no to food though.” Hilda leaned in.

Cyril grinned. “You got me. His worst cooking is the same as a gourmet to me.”

“You’re such a nice friend,” she grinned in response.

“I’m just not a picky eater.” Her shoulder brushed against his arm. Her hair slipped off her exposed shoulder, revealing soft, ivory skin. He couldn’t help but picture their contrasting skin against each other. His hand twitched, yearning to touch her.

“So how come you never accepted my leftovers when we used to eat together?” Hilda dropped her smile, but Cyril was unaffected by her deadpan look.

“That’s because Claude warned me not to. Ya use it as a way make others pay you back with other work.”

“Not for you dummy,” Hilda grimaced. “You already helped me so much, why would I need to go that route?”

“That’s true. So why did ya always get me food?”

“Because you were a friend, of course!”

He should be happy at her words, but he blanked when she folded her arms and in turn pushed her prominent chest out. His arm subconsciously hovered over her lower back, but he realized at the last second what he was doing and placed it on the stones behind her.

“Waddaya mean ‘were’?” He asked, trying to refocus.

“Well, of course I still consider you a good friend, but it’s not like we spoke much since forever. And I can’t deny that you’ve grown, so I can’t say for sure if we’re still on the same playing field.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Hilda.” He leaned down. Those eyes…those clear, hypnotic eyes…he wanted to just stare at her. “Am I not good enough anymore?”

“Well, I was worried that we might not be able to chat like we used to,” Hilda looked up. The glow from the sunset cast a soft shade over her. “Don’t think so?”

He held his breath when her lips parted just slightly. “I think that just means we can have more meaningful exchanges now…”

She shifted away, tugging her shoulders in, but she couldn’t keep her gaze off of him. She bit her lips as if simmering the taste of his words. “…Meaningful in what way?” she whispered.

His arms, so close they could feel the heat from her skin, wanted to pull her in right then and there, drink in the warmth of her touch, sink into the curve of her neck. Cyril lurched forward – and an eruption of laughter thundered out of the dining hall from students in their dinner antics. He froze. What was he doing out there, leering at her and caging her in like a teenager? Cyril shut his eyes as he breathed in, straightened up and pulled back his arms.

“I dunno. We should go return the dishes.”

He collected the bowls and dropped off the stone ledge. Hilda sighed and followed after him, her hands gracefully folded in front of her.

As he washed the dishes Hilda stared at the remaining teens conversing in the hall. “I just realized that I never saw you in the school uniform, Cyril,” she commented beside him.

“Ah, yeah. Lady Byleth allowed me to attend the classes at no cost, but it didn’t feel right to ask for more than that, so I returned it.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she gave Cyril another visual rundown. “You would have looked great in those colours.”

“You think so?” Cyril wiped his hands dry. “I dunno, I always figured the fancy clothes would look weird on me.”

“Well, we ought to try one out before you know for sure? I will guarantee that you’d look divine,” Hilda winked.

Cyril could only gape as she grabbed his arm and pulled him out to the main building. Where would they even find uniforms?

She took him to the Golden Deer classroom and went to the cupboard at the back. “I passed by here earlier and saw that they still have spares kept in the classrooms.”

Cyril took a look at her in the classroom, surrounded by the smell of chalkboard and ink, and began reminiscing about the chaos the fawns created whenever Claude began disrupting the session. Back then he was quite disinterested by the cackles, annoyed even, but now he was amused by how much he missed the noise. Hilda called him over with a stack of clothes lined up on the podium. After a quick assessment she pulled one of the larger garments and held it against him.

“Yes, this should be perfect. Go try it on!”

“Wh-what? But where?”

“In here of course. Just change behind the blackboard. I’ll close the door if you’re worried.”

Cyril nodded and pulled behind the blackboard. He placed his shoulder pad, bow and quiver to the wall while waiting for the sound of the shut doors, then began changing. He picked through the layers and pulled the white collared shirt. The size was just about right, but whether it could handle any movement without tearing at the joints was another question.

“How’s it fit Cyril?”

Cyril almost jumped, gripping onto the white shirt he slipped on. “Hilda! I thought you were waiting outside!”

“What? Oh, I didn’t realize you didn’t want me to take a look. Should I leave?”

“Well, doesn’t matter now,” Cyril quickly pulled over the black overcoat and poked out from behind the blackboard. He left it unbuttoned because it felt too prim and proper to do otherwise. Hilda made a sound of awe as she stared at him. He didn’t bother changing his pants after realizing Hilda was in front of the board.

“Yea, you’re not used to this at all. You look untamed. I _can_ make it work though,” Hilda muttered. “May I?”

She reached for his shirt before he could answer. She buttoned up the lapel from the bottom up. It was tighter around his chest, so she slipped her fingers underneath the layer to tug the hem of his undershirt. The way she spliced her fingers over his chest made him wonder how much of her movement was solely for adjusting the shirt, but he wouldn’t object if she continued. Her hands slid back to the buttons and worked deftly in closing them up but began to linger again over his collar. They were like heated iron gently seeping warmth down his throat. After taking another look, she buttoned it as well.

She stepped back and admired her creation. “There, this is more like you. I got to be honest, you fill it in nicely.”

Cyril placed his hand around his neck and cleared his throat. “If you say so. But how do I look?”

Hilda puckered her lips. “If you walked in our class like this, half of the students would have devoured you.”

Cyril felt his face burn. It was hard to look at her. She swayed her hips as she walked back to the closet, humming about trying a uniform herself.

He gulped. “I’ll wait outside –“

“Don’t worry, I’ll be changing behind the blackboard. Plus, the guards outside might mistake you for a student and take you to the dorms,” she winked.

He nodded weakly and sat down on one of the desks, facing the door. He listened to the scraping of the floor behind him as she adjusted the blackboard.

The ruffling sounds of fabric began. “So Cyril, what is it like working as a knight?”

Try as he might, he couldn’t stop picturing Hilda unclasping her coat. “It’s kinda similar to what the knights did here at the monastery. We mostly worked on recovery since Farghus is going through stuff.”

He tried to tell himself that focusing on the conversation would be a good distraction. 

“That sounds like a lot of work. I’m glad I don’t have to go through that.” And just like that, hearing Hilda’s little huffs as she pulled off her bindings, his throat dried up.

“Yeah, we mostly deal with villagers though. Helping them relocate or provide rations,” he rasped.

“I see. So you must have met a lot of new people, huh?” She was shimmying out of her skirt and hummed while picking the clothes. _In her undergarment._

“No, not really. I tried to keep myself busy with errands when I didn’t have to fight. Don’t think I’ve got much with people.” He planted his face in his palm. What was he doing?!

Hilda giggled. “Don’t say that. If that was the case, I wouldn’t be here with you, would I? Hmm, yes, this works just right.”

“Ya done?”

“Well, you tell me, Cyril.”

He didn’t dare get up. He turned around and saw Hilda in her familiar academic attire. Her hair was open and folded over to one side. She unbuttoned her first few buttons to reveal a distinct cleavage. “My old size doesn’t fit me too well I guess. What do you think?”

“Definitely untamed,” he commented wryly.

“Oh shush,” she huffed and plopped down the bench next to him. “I don’t have a mirror, so you have to tell me how I look.”

He sighed, averting his eyes from her breasts. “You’re a more grown up Hilda.”

“Come on. You heard my decadent compliments often enough, you can use those words on me.”

“Nah, I couldn’t pull it off. Plus, it’d end up being a lie.”

“You’re such a meanie. Are you saying it doesn’t look good on me?”

He turned. He shouldn’t have done that. Hilda had her arms behind her on the bench and her body arched toward him. He gulped. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what do you mean?” She teased in a flirty voice.

“Hilda…” He leaned onto the table. He wanted to pin her down then and there, but the way Hilda was able to rile him up didn’t sit too well with him. She was having it too easy. He wanted to throw her off too.

Cyril wet his lips. “I’d rather wanna know… if I walked in, which half of the class you’d belong to.”

She stared at him blankly. The evening silence dragged on. Cyril focused on her and wanted to see every second of her. Her chest heaved when she finally whispered. “You know where I would fall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it was clear, but even though the story is written in third POV, this one leaned more from Cyril's perspective.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda's feeling confused.

Hilda did not recognize herself that evening. She had become infamous for her lax attitude that could not be strained even by an army (but with an obviously cutesy charm). Not to mention, she never shrugged away from brutal axe attacks (heck, she loved to watch a good fight!) and she lived off of twisting people’s good heartedness to favour her needs. Her brother Holst often joked that if it wasn’t for him, Hilda could easily have taken over House Goneril or even the Alliance with her sweet but coldhearted charms.

So why was she warring with herself as she stood next to Cyril?

Cyril was a good kid- a good man. Even during their first encounter he impressed her with spoken truth that dented her myopic concept of the world. She kept around him, asking more of his worldview whenever they shared their errand duties. Of course she largely glued to him because he could finish their tasks so swiftly, but she craved to hear his blunt facts during times when people cushioned her with flowery words. 

The habit slowly carried over to the battlefield. Hilda kept an eye out on him, nervous as he headed straight towards the enemy with his bow and axe, and before she realized it she covered for him whenever they charged at the frontline. He learned quickly, and with his honing strength he managed to fight on par with her. And with each battle their styles became so intertwined that it was harder to fight without the other.

Back then Hilda saw him as a partner in battle. Now that she had seen him grown, that definition was twisting into wishful desires. She accepted that she was attracted to him, but she couldn’t understand how over the course of one day her mind latched onto the Almyran man.

 _I must be sexually frustrated,_ Hilda thought grimly as she changed into the academy dress. He’s a _succulent fruit in a parching desert, it’s no wonder that I want to savour him all for myself._

And the longer the conversation continued, the more she wanted to push and tease. She noticed how he eyed her breasts when she crossed her arms. She felt the heat when he caged her over the stony outlook. She saw his Adam’s apple bop when she pulled him into the isolated classroom. She obviously wasn’t the only one feeling… _desire_ in their reunion. Should she consider making a move? She figured she could lead the conversation and wait for the moment to pounce, but then…but then he turned the table and bluntly asked her if she’d devour him. Was he asking how she felt about him? Or was that what she _hoped_ he was asking her? Oh, dear goddess, what was she supposed to say? It’s as if the saints were cackling at her from the heavens above.

Her chest heaved when she finally whispered. “You know where I would fall.”

Cyril’s widened eyes were locked on her, and it was then she realized that she had her hips curved back and chest pushed out, but his relishing reaction emboldened her to keep up. The seconds passed by and swallowed the air out of her throat. The table creaked with the lost tension when he shifted his weight around and his arm trailed along its edge toward her.

She wet her lips when his hooded eyes drifted down. Their knees touched. He carefully leaned forward to place his hands on each side of the bench, sandwiching her between them without any contact. Hilda felt the teasing heat lingering between their chests and heard the faintest rumble coming from his throat.

“You really wanna devour me?” He husked for an answer. She didn’t answer immediately, drinking in the scent of his stiff, brooding musk emanating from his presence. His orange eyes pierced at her with allure. It took all her strength to keep her fingers from tangling into his uniform and ripping it off. Cyril smirked. “And here I thought the soup was enough.” _Where was this cockiness coming from?_

Hilda hummed to drum up for time. “It’s fine to have seconds once in a while.”

“You sound like Myrtle,” Cyril muttered, referring to his wyvern. She could see his chest rise with every breath. He was so close. She felt usurped by her own body, her limbs freezing in place, the air broiling in her lungs, flaming stronger and trickling into her stomach the longer she stared at him.

“If she was here she’d agree,” she muttered back and felt her thighs brush him. Reality sank in with a strong cold gust up her back. This was not right. He was her friend. They were too close.

Cyril cocked his head in amusement. “You wanna go ask her right now?”

There was her out. If there was one thing that could douse the heat between them, it’d be the knowledge that a beloved animal was around.

“Whaat?!” Hilda batted her eyes brightly and leaped up with excited glee, throwing Cyril aback. “You could have told me sooner! Where is she?”

“She’s stationed at the outer walls,” he mumbled in disappointment when Hilda jumped off. Hilda was so interwoven with the idea of seeing the wyvern that she only turned back at the sound of Cyril’s snicker. He muffled his laugh with his hand and then rested his cheeks on it. “I can pick up a skywatch duty for tomorrow. Wanna join?”

Hilda’s eyes sparkled. “Of course! Byleth would totally understand if I see her later.”

“Great.” Cyril relaxed. “I will be there at the first bell.”

She nodded and quickly collected her clothes, tossing her coat over her shoulders to cover the uniform. Cyril brushed her hip as she passed by and they shyly grinned at each other before she disappeared into the courtyard.

The trip to find her crew was accompanied by the chirps of the night bugs and the internal screeches of anxiety. Upon reflection she couldn’t understand what had happened. She didn’t know what lines they almost crossed in the classroom, and she wondered how she would have felt if she didn’t spin the wyvern fascination to such grandiosity. It wasn’t that he was the problem, he was easily good looking – in fact, not many potential candidates had stirred her this strongly before. Was she unknowingly longing for a short fling in Garreg Mach? With the rarity in which she was here, a hook up would leave her without any hitches, and if she broke it off she would never see the other in a while, if not ever again.

No, she wouldn’t do that to Cyril. Cyril was a friend, and she didn’t want to ruin that. She’d meet him with Myrtle, Cyril’s wyvern, and they’d reminisce about the good old days. The nostalgia should drain all thoughts of Cyril as a partner and return him to his role as warring partner, comrade, a younger friend… 

The thoughts strung into the cycle of possibilities as she was being scolded by her advisor for extending her absence. She eventually silenced the maddening conflict by going to bed to focus on the wyvern she hadn’t seen for so long.

But the night teased her with dreams that she could never mention in the morrow.

\+ + +

 _Okay, I give up,_ Hilda woke up begrudgingly. Her hair was tousled and her night gown rode up to her stomach. She couldn’t remember when she last had such rough sleep. _Maybe there will be relief if I sank my teeth into this possible relationship._

She skipped her breakfast. She showered methodically and dressed for another day. Her advisor reminded her of the delayed meeting with Byleth, so she left her with the message that she would come when the sun was at its height after tending to Myrtle in the morning.

Once at the outer wall, a dark wyvern welcomed her with flapping wings. Hilda rushed over and patted Myrtle’s snout. The scales of these flying reptiles grew in erratic directions that can scathe the inexperienced, but riders who have raised and tended to them learn the patterns and build a bond with their touch.

“You’re beautiful as ever, Myrtle,” Hilda cooed. Mytrle nostrils widened and huffed. “Yeah, I’m sorry I haven’t seen you for so long.”

Hilda opened her pouch and pulled out some dried meat. Myrtle quickly snapped it off her fingers. With a quick gulp she sought for more, nuzzling at Hilda’s pouch. Hilda snickered and kept a finger over her snout.

“Gee, and here I thought _I_ was spoiling her.” Cyril was behind her and dropped something heavy by the sound of it.

“Cyril, it’s a special occasion! We haven’t seen each other for five years – let me treat her just for today,” Hilda pouted. Myrtle huffed in agreement and placed her head on Hilda’s lap.

“Yea, yea. But don’t complain when she gets an upset stomach.”

Hilda turned her head. “You should let her rest then. We don’t want her sick.”

“Then don’t overfeed her, silly,” Cyril stated, trying to look annoyed, but amusement slipped through instead. He was blushing profusely, likely a symptom from last night, but once he began sorting through the saddle equipment his focus shifted to his duty. Watching him work reminded Hilda of the days as students bemoaned the group task, but she never considered that the knights also partook in the duties. In hindsight it made sense, since you couldn’t trust the students to be the sole security of the monastery.

“Here I thought you had vacation since you’re not at the Western Church,” Hilda commented.

Cyril spread the blanket over Myrtle’s back and began securing the saddle with the belts. “I don’t really get vacation, but I volunteered on today’s duties since we were short on fliers. And Myrtle would’ve been excited to see you, so I figured it’d be a nice excuse to go for a flight together.”

“Oh, Cyril. I didn’t bring Catria with me. She is incubating her eggs back home.”

“Oh.” Cyril’s eyes darted over to her. He tugged at the belts to check the tightness. “Okay, I didn’t consider that you wouldn’t have brought her. This is awkward...”

“I could ride on your lap,” Hilda suddenly suggested.

He yanked at the belts and Myrtle reflexively snapped at Cyril. Cyril couldn’t look at Hilda and instead petted the wyvern in apology. Hilda was picturing the two of them in the small space of the saddle, with her sitting tightly between his legs and feeling his entire body against her. Oh, the image definitely ran through his mind as well.

Watching him struggle to pick up the conversation was cute, but she wouldn’t be so cruel to him. “We can always remove the saddle and ride on the blanket itself. It’d be rough, but we are used to worse.”

There was a slight disappointment in his face, but he nodded. But maybe… some mischief wasn’t too bad. Hilda leaned against the curves of the wyvern to accentuate her chest as she watched him deftly fold the belts away. 

Cyril put the saddle aside, but she could hear him clear his throat. “Myrtle is ready. Wanna hop on?”

“I don’t know… She grew so much taller, and I am not dressed to climb,” Hilda sighed heavily enough to lift her ribs.

“…I’ll help you up,” Cyril was clearly not convinced, but he shuffled over to her.

He grabbed her by the hips, his touch oddly fervent, but she didn’t have a moment to savour when Cyril lifted her onto the saddle with little effort. She almost whined when he let go and realized her plan of mischief backfired on her. Goddess, it was embarrassing how she starved for his touch.

Cyril climbed up behind her but left a noticeable space. Once Cyril confirmed they were ready, they set off.

If there was one thing that could distract Hilda from the man she wanted to claim, it was the exhilarating flight on a wyvern. Unlike the pegasus, flying on a wyvern was no art. They were unpredictable and turned in all directions. It was all about tapping your instincts and staying upright with no reign. But once mastered, a swing’s momentum can build into a powerful strike.

They soared between the columns of the reconstructed architecture, pointing at changes in the monastery since their graduation. There were more heads bustling through the courtyards than ever before, not to mention a crowd so thick in the market that the grounds could not be seen. Rows of people, enough to fill a village, were flowing in through the gates. There were scaffolds stretching out along certain walls, and trenches dug out for the pipes to line up.

Hilda saw a green head along the stairwell to the pond. That must be Seteth! She leaned over to the side to take a closer look, not noticing Myrtle tilting to avoid the dormitories she was flying towards. She almost lost her balance, but Cyril grabbed her around the waist on time.

“Hilda! Did you forget how to ride?!”

Hilda gulped. “Oops. I saw Seteth and got distracted.”

“I can’t believe you’d do something so careless.” There was Cyril’s judgmental frown again; the same frown he had whenever Hilda tried to pass over a task to him. He shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around her. “Be careful. You know you’re supposed to look straight ahead when flying.”

Hilda couldn’t register his words. Her heart hammered against her ears and her skin burned under his arm.

“Hilda?” Cyril waited. Hilda clammed her eyes shut and tried to respond.

She must have taken awhile, because he tugged at her with his arm so she was angled better to face him. Based on his reaction it was clear that the warmth in her cheeks were very visible.

“Cyril…” Hilda whispered breathlessly. Cyril’s chest rose and his arms around her tightened. 

She didn’t understand how she suddenly had this powerful desire for him, but she couldn’t stand it anymore. She clutched onto his thigh and twisted around to face him.

She wanted him, modesty be damned…

“So this is where you’ve been hiding Hilda.”

Hilda and Cyril almost fell off the wyvern. She was shaking, just realizing she had been holding her breath.

“Byleth!” Hilda shouted as her former professor rose up next to her on her pegasus.

The archbishop smiled brightly. “I heard that you’re keeping a certain wyvern company, so I figured I might as well join you in saying hello. I wouldn’t have guessed that you’d be helping Cyril on skywatch duty though.”

Oh goddess, why now?! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of my analysis of Hilda, but given her insecurity of being relied on in battle and in school, I'd assume she'd project that in other aspects of life. She may hold more responsibilities as an adult, but there's always that insecurity of commitment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril gets advice

It was odd be aground again when Cyril’s wyvern still circled above in tune with the decorated pegasus, a trace of pink and teal hair fluttering from their fliers. Even after retiring the weapons to wield the pen, Lady Byleth hadn’t forgotten her mercenary ways to slip in as silent as an owl. Still, Cyril could not bear a grudge when she smiled and asked for permission to take Hilda out for a flight. After all, he hadn’t seen her since Lady Rhea’s funeral; the last he remembered was her icy but gentle hand on his shoulder before she collapsed. It was as if a part of herself died along with the former archbishop, because the glow of her hair disappeared and returned to the original darker hue.

He passed by the greenhouse and kicked a gravel stone off the walking path. He was not accustomed to just aimlessly stroll about. It made him antsy that time slipped by and no task was being completed. He shook his hands and sighed. Ashe kept assuring him that he was allowed to relax, and Cyril made a conscious effort to do so, but the need to get work done battered him internally.

And then there was that beautiful flush running over Hilda’s cheeks.

She was such an enigma. In his younger days he had no such feelings for her. She was a silly girl who effortlessly wrapping the people around her finger. He was fully aware she was using him too, but it somehow never bothered him. Hilda looked him straight in the eyes, which was such a stark contrast to the adult members in House Goneril who only acknowledged him when they kicked him around during his enslavement. It could be why he let her bother him with needless questions and wallowing. She wanted to learn and so she asked. She reflected and wondered. Under all that clamoring she always stayed by his side. She cared for him.

And now he wanted more.

The tugging in his chest had been frequent since their encounter yesterday. Perplexing as it was, this crush was growing stronger the longer he was with her. He had no share of experience in the past to base his feeling on, as they were generally one-sided: There were many love letters he received at the monastery (which he first suspected when Lady Byleth delivered one with a sly grin, but finally confirmed once Lysithea read one to him). He did give in to one girl’s request in his last school year out of curiosity; she mistook him for exotic fireworks in a hall of ordinary candles only to find out he was a mere man, so she churned the wick the second she got bored.

There was one awkward week at House Gaspard where one of Ashe’s younger sisters pined after him. It was as early as the introductions when she was first enamoured with him, and the shy glances and exchanges escalated into obsessive trailing and unwarranted conversations. Cyril tried to be civil, especially because she was Ashe’s family, but tactfulness was not his forte. He tried to shake her off, but it ended disastrously with her bawling over to her brother, who smiled apologetically and smoothly gelled over the mishap. She avoided Cyril since, but Ashe mentioned that she moved on to clamor another knight.

The one romantic interest that etched into his heart was Lysithea, the other student closest to his age who was as ill-tempered as him when it came to the interactions with the class members. They spent a good time together as she taught him the ways with written words. The reading and writing sessions became a fond past-time and soon the letters began exchanging. He felt a thrill in his stomach whenever she smiled with pride and worked hard to see it more often. However, one day she confessed that she wanted to join hands with Lorenz Gloucester. What should have been devastating news did surprisingly little to his heart; deep inside he knew that they wouldn’t have worked out to begin with. He noticed how she carefully skipped around certain details about herself and kept a small restraining gap between them. Whatever truth she hid, she didn’t feel that it was a secret he was to know. He accepted that their relationship would remain that of friends, and they continued writing letters about their daily joys and rabbles.

The reflection of his past made it clear just how unfamiliar he was with the current sensation he felt with Hilda. His mind was brewing a storm but was also as blank as the clouds. His visions of her were sensual, a physical attraction that heated his skin from head to toe. Was he just lonely and craving for a partner? Many of the other knights kept fawning about their darlings, so it could have subconsciously affected him.

The thoughts kept wandering as his feet took him from the greens of the greenhouse to the docks of the fish pond. The newly appointed principal of the re-established Garreg Mach academy sat next to a line of fishing poles, baiting another hook. Seteth stopped when he saw Cyril droning down towards him.

“Ah, if it isn’t Cyril,” he smiled warmly. He got up and wiped his hand with a handkerchief. “The time off from Garreg Mach has been well on you. You returned yesterday with the Knights of the Western Church?”

“Yeah. We didn’t get any orders yet, so I’m free right now. Ya got anything for me to do?”

Seteth sighed. “Cyril, as I mentioned in the past, you are not bound to run the errands for us. You should take this day to enjoy yourself.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I understand how you feel. Take me as an example then; I have received an influx of work because of the village attacks, and it has become a toll to my health. I would still be in my desk if my sister Flayn hadn’t enforced a break time for me.”

“I guess. Any ideas what I can do?”

“You can join me in fishing if you like,” Seteth gestured him over with his arm. “We got an influx of mouths to feed, so we can aid the cook this way. I’d say that kills two birds with one stone.”

Cyril walked over to the bait bucket and grabbed a worm. “Alois showed me once, not sure if I remember.”

He fiddled with the hook when Seteth explained how to secure it. Seteth had been learning from Byleth and Leonie when they noticed him return empty-handed embarrassingly often, and eventually became a proud fisher supplying the kitchen with a range of seafood. Cyril followed the instructions and had his line ready, released it into the water and joined him in the waiting.

“Weren’t you on skywatch duty today? I believe I saw you passing by earlier,” Seteth commented.

“Uhh, yea, I was. I had to lend my wyvern away though, so not doing that for the rest of the day,” Cyril answered. “Lady Byleth is with my wyvern though, so the patrol is still happening!” he quickly added.

“Oh? She was supposed to be in a meeting though…,” Seteth frowned.

“Yea, with Hilda. They’re both flying above us as we speak.”

Seteth looked up and watched the shapes of the flying creatures passing over the pond toward the dormitories. “That woman will be the death of me… There are proper ways to conduct a meeting.”

“Well, since it’s only Hilda, it should be fine though.”

“I suppose. That reminds me, I would like to speak with Hilda as well. If you see her later, could you forward her to me?”

Cyril raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Is she in trouble?”

Seteth waved the suggestion off. “Of course not, she isn’t a student anymore. She has been helping me with some paperwork, so I’d like her to review it for me.”

Cyril nodded. “She is surprisingly hardworking, isn’t she?”

Seteth agreed. “She avoided physical tasks like a plague, but nevertheless she accomplished much. It seems she needs the right motivation to push her to take action.”

“The right motivation?” Cyril could understand that when he considered how his work with Ashe. He would give suggestions here and there, but at the end they wouldn’t come to fruition unless Ashe himself agreed and wanted to see it envisioned. Seteth must have had the same situation with Lady Rhea.

Seteth was watching a shadow in the water closing in on his line. “Yes. Sometimes a person has them already; sometimes they need it from something- or someone- else. I would say that a close partner would be ideal for that role. A partner would have the binding strength needed to support and guide them into the right direction. When your resolve weakens, they will be there to build you up.”

The fish latched onto the line and Seteth pulled. His strength won out against the large Fodlandian and he tossed it into the fish bucket. Cyril took a peek and saw a bath of a dozen silver fishes swimming around the new catch.

“Do you think _I_ would make a good partner?”

Seteth stared at the young knight, surprised. “Of course. I haven’t met anyone as loyal and supportive as you.”

Cyril kept his focus on the fishes in embarrassment. Seteth smiled in a fatherly fashion and patted his back. “I’m not sure if she is aware of your interest yet, but if she does she would surely want to be with you. You are a good man, Cyril.”

He didn’t register Seteth’s assumptive comment as he squeezed the pole tighter. “…Ya think so?”

“Absolutely. I think something caught on your line.”

Cyril immediately snapped his pole back and wrung out his fish from the water, flinging it straight into the bucket. The fishes began thrashing in the tight space, so Seteth wrapped it up and took down the equipment with Cyril’s aide. They had little conversations about the monastery as they climbed up the stairwell and handed the fish to the chef in the dining hall. The chef was impressed with the rarity of the collection and offered payment. It was not in either Seteth’s or Cyril’s nature to accept the coins, so the arguments began on how the other should take it. It was after several tossups that Seteth won and persuaded Cyril to settle with the reward.

“Did you consider buying a gift for your lady?” Seteth kept his hands behind his back as they strolled through the gardens.

Cyril raised his brow this time. “What lady?”

Seteth smirked. “I presume there is one who has claimed your interest, which is why you considered your right as an ideal partner.”

Cyril weighed the pouch in his palm. “No, not really. I’m not even sure what I could get that she wouldn’t already have.”

“I see. That is quite a dilemma. What of taking her to a memorable setting, like a sunrise? If she is willing to wake up by the first bell to see you, then she must be reciprocating your feelings.”

Cyril wasn’t surprised as he had the same thought. 

They passed by the gazebo and Seteth gazed at the rose bushes. “When I tried to win the affections of my late wife, I took her to the beach and set up a picnic at the sunset. She loved the sea, and the view helped with the setting for my confession.”

Cyril recalled when they were at the coast fighting off the rebels of the former Western Church. Hilda kept covering her nose when the smell of algae washed in and whined about the sand seeping into her boots. “I don’t think she would like the beach much.”

“Do you know of a place she favours?”

Cyril secured the pouch in his belt while contemplating. She never really mentioned a place she’d frequent or wanted to see. Back when they were students, she would be everywhere – the grand hall, the overview, the greenhouse…. There wasn’t really one place he could pinpoint to be her favourite. Although, looking at the gazebo, he did remember Lady Byleth and Hilda having their tea there once in a while. Maybe she just enjoyed a nice scenery.

“I think I got it,” Cyril said. His eyes twinkled in excitement. “If it works, I’ll get ya something with the fish money as a thank you.”

“There is no need for that, Cyril,” Seteth smiled.

“Well, if you won’t accept, I’ll just get a gift for Flayn.”

Seteth sighed amusedly and watched Cyril off to the building. Cyril might have tried to be vague about the details, but he was able to conclude who the darling was he was pining for.

 _He is quite something. To see him interested in Hilda…_ Seteth strolled back to his office, recollecting his first encounter with Cyril. The Almyran boy wore a strong gaze when he first stepped foot into the polished halls- never smiling, fully guarded. He observed all the details of his environment and quickly picked up trades he could use to fulfill his role as an errand boy, all without asking for support. And because he was so self-reliant, he wasn’t in the forefront of the staff’s attention until Seteth found him sleeping in the haystack next to the horses. His paternal instincts kicked in with sound fury and he took charge to ensure that Cyril was properly fed and bedded, and kept in touch with Shamir and Byleth to supervise his progress as a student. He frequently called Cyril over to check up on him, especially after learning the sheer number of duties he took up. Over the years he watched Cyril with the eyes of a father and cherished watching the walls slowly break down as he opened up to his comrades. But when Lady Rhea passed away, Cyril lost his sight to the good in the world. Seteth was carefully treading his words and wisdom, but to his relief, Cyril was able to overcome his grief with the support of the friends he found. And now, after so many years, it was wonderful to see Cyril finally smile brightly.

 _Cyril would definitely build up Hilda,_ Seteth realized. _But having her by his side would steer him in the right direction._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter from Cyril's POV. How do you like Byleth's design? Tried to make it a fusion of the archbishop/Sothis and her mercenary outfit, with a hint of gold decor as an Almyran influence (guess who she married haha). 
> 
> I wanted to show his relation with Seteth. With Seteth's paternal nature and Cyril growing up alone in the monastery they'd probably have a subtle father/son relationship. Seteth also dons a new emblem - the flame crest as reference to VW war!
> 
> Not sure if Seteth's point came across, but what he was concerned was that Cyril's future may be stagnant because he's satisfied with what he's doing even though he has still so much room to grow (even his endcard calls him limitless potential after all), so having Hilda by his side may teach him to explore new roles (and also to teach him to relax lol).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda meets with Byleth

Hilda couldn’t decide if she should put her arms around Byleth or wrap her hands around her throat.

Byleth watched with glee as the two of them flew up, Cyril shrinking into a small shape below.

“You must have really missed me if you came all the way to find me,” Hilda commented. The air helped cool her face, but Hilda’s heart still battered against her ribcage from her moments in Cyril’s hold.

“Of course I did,” Byleth answered. “I haven’t seen my first students after so long, so when I heard that one of them has come to visit, you’d bet I’d try to track them down.”

“You’re too sweet.” Hilda had no motivation to carry the conversation, even though she had so many topics planned out on her way to Garreg Mach.

Byleth watched with her piercing eyes. “The reason I was so eager to find you was because I had some rose petal tea prepared. We should head over before Flayn helps herself.”

That was enough to get Hilda going, and they swooped over to her old office by the dormitories. The smell of rose drifted in before they even landed and they were welcomed by a tiered stand of pastries and fine china in the center of the room. Myrtle and the pegasus returned to the sky to follow the routine rounds they had memorized from years ago.

Hilda sat down and admired the assembly. “Oh, Byleth, you really outshined yourself! And to think we didn’t have tea together for so long- I’ve really missed this!”

Byleth smiled brightly. “It is the same for me. I’ve been looking forward to your visit since you first sent me the letter and I got overly excited with the preparations. For old times’ sake it should be fine to indulge ourselves, though, right?” Byleth picked up one pastry from the tier and offered it to her. “I found this one treat from Dagda that you should try out; they have baked in a citrus fruit of theirs that gives them a tartness that I haven’t tasted before. What do you think?”

She offered the cake and Hilda tasted it. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding! I definitely need some tea to wash that down!”

They both giggled and caught up on their lives. Byleth’s work and responsibilities did not offer her many exciting adventures for her liking, but her animated gestures made the mundane work just as engaging to listen to as her tales of skirmishes. Hilda pointed out how refreshing it was to see her so expressive, bringing a blushing expression out of Byleth. She blamed it on her husband across the eastern border, who even through his absence managed to catch her off-guard with sweet letters of love and gifts of infuriating pranks.

“I still don’t understand how you would put up with that idiot,” Hilda smirked, resting her chin on the back of her hand. “He tosses all the responsibilities on you and jumps to the other side of Fodlan’s throat. He has some nerve.”

She sighed in agreement. “I think that’s why he doesn’t dare come back. He knows that I’ll spear him with my sword. But even so, I can’t get tired of Claude.”

Byleth’s dark eyes softened with the loving thoughts. Hilda was jealous, wondering if there was a man would gaze at her that way.

“Forget about me. Since when were you so keen to be on skywatch?” Byleth teased. “I still remember how you avoided it like a plague when I used to send you out.”

“Oh, please. You can’t compare me to the child I was back then. I work _very_ hard now,” Hilda huffed.

“Of course, of course,” Byleth crossed her legs and rested her arms on her chair. “Speaking of which, I do want to talk about your work. I’ve heard a lot about your opening year of the academy, and I must say I’m impressed with what you’ve accomplished; you really have what it takes to build it up.

“So because of that I want your thoughts on a project that I had been considering. You must have noticed the growing student population in this place, now that we lowered the threshold of entry for commoners. It’s hard to pay singular attention to each of their growth, so I was considering that we structure more personalized teachings based on their skills and relocate them to the appropriate academy. As an example would be the school of sorcery for those with magical talents, the school of arts that Manuela is developing in the west, and Garreg Mach for a malleable growth in leadership. Yours could be a potential branch in this too. What do you think about nurturing a specialty as well?”

Hilda’s mind whirred by the information. She didn’t consider talking about work when she arrived.

“I mean, this development should be an easy feat for you, seeing how you were ready to run errands on your first morning back,” Byleth smirked.

Hilda frowned. “Byleth, I’d love to discuss work with you, but please don’t tease me in such roundabout ways. You’re starting to resemble Claude too much.”

Byleth threw back her head and laughed. Hilda stuffed her mouth with another cake. Gah, it was too sour!

“You know it’s all in good fun, Hilda. Honestly though, I’m glad to see you’re doing well,” Byleth leaned forward. “I wish I could hear your explanation on what I flew into earlier, but we have to stick with work for now. This is the only spare time I have with all the issues propping up lately.”

Hilda groaned with a blush and slumped back into the chair. The discussions returned to Fodlan’s growth in the east and how Hilda could mold her school to provide unique services, and although no conclusions were made after an hour, the leads that were threaded were interesting enough when they considered Hilda’s talent as a jeweler. Yet Hilda questioned how productive the actual conversation when it was sprinkled with tasting the cookies and dealing with Byleth’s cheekily beaded-in references to a certain Almyran knight. That grin of hers that propped up whenever she included him was starting to resemble Claude too much. Hilda would usually indulge in such plays, but the sincerity in Byleth’s eyes implied that she saw something fruitful result in her relationship with Cyril, and that instilled a pressure in her that stunted her retorts.

They heard the beating wings of the riderless rides returning from their rounds, and Hilda eagerly collected the meeting notes they scribbled out to escape. Was there really something _that_ meaningful in her reunion with Cyril? Hilda convinced herself that it was not; what she experienced was just a flirtatious day to indulge her feelings as a woman. With quips of goodbyes they split off, Hilda hopping onto Myrtle and combing through the monastery to search for Cyril- obviously so that Myrtle could return to her partner, nothing else. She told herself that him as a friend was more than enough, but as she mistook yet another set of dark hair for him she had to accept that the rapid heart flutter was not because she was embarrassed by the way they left off earlier. She understood why she had lost her cool... but did it give her the right to hope that this would go somewhere? After flying the full circumference and not spotting the real Cyril, she flew back with a sigh (out of disappointment or relief was not clear) to the outer walls, notifying the next watch to pick up their shift.

Hilda idled with Myrtle under the sky, watching the clouds mold to crown the castle while they hoped for Cyril to eventually turn up. Myrtle began scratching her neck against the walls when the equipment began wearing her down and Hilda was forced to pull it apart. Cyril should be grateful that she was doing all of this for him. Where was the guy? Myrtle yawned in relief and nestled on Hilda’s lap with wings lazily spread out when the warmth of noon lulled her down. Hilda’s plan to return to her chambers and write a letter was quickly dissolved when the wyvern’s lids shut, and she happily leaned back while stroking her snout, eventually drifting off to sleep herself. 

_She was back home, and as usual, Holst was bothering her with his needy hugs and bubbly jokes. He was lecturing her about something, but only the crackling sounds of a reptile came out. His demeanor was so serious though that it convinced Hilda to listen studiously, taking in every growl as if it was a life lesson that she could not miss. She followed him past the door as he continued with his incomprehensible monologue when a maid nudged her to clean herself._

_She was led away into her bathing chamber, but there were tables with colourful pastries lined up next to the tub. How delightful! She ate and ate, the cakes and biscuits gushing with cream as they filled her mouth. She reached out for the next, and felt a hand reaching for her fingers._

_Claude pulled her with a snicker onto the sill on top of a tower, completely unperturbed that she was wrapped in a bathrobe. After her screeching he removed a scarf that was suddenly around his head and tossed it to her. She grabbed it by the end before it fluttered off and quickly draped it around herself while Claude was talking with a distant muffle. He suddenly stood up after her wrapping the scarf a third time over her waist and walked off straight toward the horizon. Shocked that he ignored the absence of ground under his feet, Hilda reached out, screaming in fear when he wouldn’t turn around, but he continued to shrink as the distance claimed him._

_“Claaaauude! Noooo! You didn’t eat the caaaaaake!”_

_It was then that she heard the stomping of the students below. They hear her shout and looked up, waiting for their academy founder dressed in a scarf to present an inspiring speech. Hilda cleared her voice. She prepared for this, she had a script written out and had repeated the words in front of a mirror. Oh, goddess, she couldn’t remember the lines! She froze. They stared and waited. This wouldn’t work. She might as well leave, and so she decided to follow Claude and jumped onto a nearby cloud._

_The clouds sprouted wings and zoomed over the roofs until they molded into the shapes of mountains. She always loved the mountains, likely because they always welcomed her mornings at home at Fodlan’s Throat. But this time she felt adventurous and dove in to get a closer look at the rocks. The cloud dipped at a steep angle, and she accelerated dangerously fast –_

_“Don’t be stupid.”_

_The cloud curved back up and slowed to gentle strokes through the air. She felt a strong arm around her waist. Cyril was clinging to her from behind, his head so close against hers she could hear him breathing. She felt his broad, bare chest against her back. Hilda turned back and noticed the trace of a scar trailing over his shoulder._

_“When did you become so beautiful?!” She asked in an unnecessarily accusing tone._

_“I dunno. Maybe it just turned out like that once I began to notice you as a woman. But you were older than me and you graduated. I needed to become a better man for you,” he answered seriously. His arms were so much larger than hers. Oh, goddess, when did he become a_ man _?!_

_“You dolt, you became too sexy. Now I have too high of a standard thanks to you.”_

_“Then you should stay with me forever.”_

_“No way. You’ll call me Lady Rhea by mistake. I can already see it happening.”_

_“Gross!” Cyril shook his head in disgust. “I don’t see her that way! Ugh, how do I get rid of that image...”_

_“Really? I don’t believe you.”_

_“Oh, please,” Cyril said in his default stern face and pinned her onto the solid table, the familiar wooden beams of her classroom replacing the view of the sky. He towered over her, dark chest hair trailing out of the dip of his unbuttoned white uniform, and his orange eyes pierced at her seductively. He lowered his head and used his teeth to pull down the scarf from her chest. “You are the only goddess I worship.”_

_The heat snaked its way down._

_She felt tremors below._

_Hilda held onto his hair with labored breath._

_He kept up, grinning against her flesh._

_“Want me to keep going?”_

“Oh, yes…,” Hilda moaned. She felt a shaking from her shoulder and opened her eyes. Cyril’s orange eyes were staring at her, but these ones were deeply perturbed.

“Hilda, you fell asleep.”

Hilda jolted up and almost rammed her head against Cyril. The revolt she felt was almost as violent as the sound coming from the carcass that Myrtle was crunching behind them. She wanted to toss herself at those jaws. A wet dream! In broad daylight at that!

“Looks like I did,” Hilda replied as casually as possible. “I’m very sorry that I left you like that. Hope you were able to keep yourself busy?”

Cyril pulled her up from the floor. “Yeah, I met up with Seteth actually. He wanted to see you when you’re free.”

“Oh! Well, I think the rest of my day has been cleared, so I might as well see him now.” Hilda wanted to be swallowed up by the ground, but the next best option was to dash off as quickly as possible and find a way to wipe Cyril’s memory. She swiftly turned to the passage, but a tug on her cloak held her back.

“Actually, if you are free… would you like to spend it with me instead?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk about second hand embarrassment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril takes Hilda out.

When the silhouette of Myrtle passed over Cyril’s head he had to breathe deeply to still his hammering heart. He could do this. Cyril had been reeling through the possible scenarios to best ask Hilda out, so at the least he shouldn’t be squawking around her. He increased his pace and followed their landing point at the outer wall. Based on the way she lingered next to him yesterday and her not-so subtle gestures, it was clear she did not _dislike_ him… but there was still the unease under all the excitement.

He hopped over several rungs but the height of the wall didn’t seem to have an end in sight. When he finally arrived at the post, the first thing he saw was splays of pink hair under his wyvern. In a panic he rushed over, only to find that Hilda wasn’t being eaten but slumbering to the thrums of the purring reptile. He sighed and dropped next to them. She tossed and turned in a somehow enarmouring way. At one point she hooked a finger onto his belt in her sleep, pinning him to place, and defeated he stretched his legs and relaxed.

That was, until he heard the faint gasps. Cyril’s eyes widened the size of dinner plates and watched as Hilda held tighter onto him, her lips parting as her hips inched closer to his leg. He shook her shoulder while scanning the area like a frightened prey to make sure the patrolling guards weren’t nearby.

“Ahh…” she was _moaning_! Cyril gritted his teeth and shook harder, and she finally batted her eyes open.

He sighed with relief while his stiff hands pulled her up. “Hilda, you fell asleep.” He let the silence speak for the rest.

She tried to play it cool, but her frantic eyes gave her away. He wished to give her space with the understandable embarrassment, but when Hilda excused herself, Cyril knew the clock was ticking. She was a noble who came here for business; he didn’t know when he’d have another chance to spend time with her.

“Actually, if you are free… would you like to spend it with me instead?”

He steeled himself to hear a quick excuse so she could run off. A beat of silence. Hilda was staring at him blankly. What was he to make of it?

“It’s just… there is a place I want to show you,” Cyril stammered quickly. “You’d be someone who’d really appreciate it. It’s a bit far, so we could fly over or-“

“Cyril.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go quickly before I change my mind.”

Cyril gaped as she quickly strutted past him and hopped onto Myrtle. He followed her just as fast, ignoring the lack of equipment and rushed Myrtle up into the sky.

He didn’t bother adjusting for their space. His left arm secured her waist and he pressed himself against her, their legs tangled together. He shouted orders to Myrtle and pushed against the scales to adjust their altitude and angle, pinning Hilda under him so that she wouldn’t be thrown off by the shifts, and the entire time all he could think of were those yearning sounds and how he wanted to bring them out of her. When they slowed Hilda straightened back against him and nuzzled her cheeks against his jaw. He rested his chin against her shoulder and sighed. She smelled so good. If it wasn’t for their insecure method of flying, he’d have tasted her on the spot. 

They descended upon a nude, mountainous landscape. The rocks did not give space for vegetation to grow, carving shades of grey starkly against the bright blue skies. Back on solid ground, it took a minute of mustered self-control for Cyril to let go of Hilda and climb off of Myrtle. Hilda lingered her hand in his grasp as he pulled her down and then took a moment to assess where they were.

“My, this is a rather drab place,” she commented.

“Come on Hilda, this place is for you,” Cyril smiled confidently and held her by the waist. “Take a closer look.”

The two walked closer to the walls. There were fine veins forming in the rocks that upon closer look shimmered in deep blue. The colour popped the longer they stared, bringing out a faint gasp out of Hilda.

“We had a few of these near my village in Almyra, so I spotted them easily when I flew over it. The miners came all the time to collect the rocks and traded them with merchants and artisans. Hope I wasn’t wrong and ya still make your own accessories, because I was sure you’d love to have these for your work.”

While he wasn’t attentive to her in the past, even he couldn’t miss the different necklaces and earrings that stood out against the whites of her school uniform. He had complaints when she first asked to borrow tools and strings, but he kept those annul after spotting her tinker in her dimly lit room one night and presenting the new accessory to Marianne the next day. It was then he realized that she wasn’t lazy, just selective in where she put her efforts.

He was glad he remembered this area that he covered in his scouting as a knight. He figured it’d be a great way to show that he paid attention to her interest. The moment she exclaimed her surprise, he’d ask her out. Whether she accepted or not was up to her, but he hoped this would boost his chances for a positive result.

Hilda kept quiet though. Staring at the rocks.

“Hilda-?” He gripped her harder. 

“Is that why you brought me here?” She whispered.

His heart dropped. “I mean…y-yeah.”

“Cyril,” Hilda turned to face him. “This is sweet and all, but there is something more I need right now.”

“Oh.” His stomach lurched. He shot the arrow and missed the mark. “There is?”

“For goddess’ sake,” Hilda pulled him down by the neck. “You’re too adorable.”

She kissed him fiercely. Her lips felt so soft, yet moved so roughly. His mind was fizzling. He felt her fingers rake through his hair, tugging him closer to her. Cyril couldn’t believe this was actually happening. The hand he had on her waist was suddenly losing its strength, but the second he let go she made up for it by pressing closer. There was so much strength packed in that small frame of hers, and she held it so reassuringly against him, her promiscuous shape firm to his chest, that it stilled his nerve enough that he held onto the curve of her back.

He then felt something wet enter his mouth and froze. It pressed against his tongue, nudging him to do something. Cyril pulled back in surprise with a bewildered Hilda in his arms. She quickly analyzed the situation and smiled gingerly.

“Never kissed with tongue?”

“I-I-I only kissed normally before,” he stammered, recalling the one short fling in his last year of studies as his only practice. Dammit, he didn’t want her to think he couldn’t please her!

“Don’t worry, we can fix that.” She cupped his face and wet her lips. “I’ll take the lead.”

She kissed him once more and glided her tongue in. With the initial shock passing over, he tasted her carefully, feeling the soft surface of her tongue. She was sweet, with a trace of citrus that reminded him of the fruit Shamir often rewarded him with after training. Making sense of her movement, he began mimicking the way she licked and pressed in, taking breaths as Hilda angled herself for more.

She felt so good.

He eventually formed a pattern and grew confident enough that the palm at her waist slowly trailed down to where her skirt fanned out. She didn’t say anything. Cyril carefully landed it on where her rear should be and braved a squeeze.

Hilda cursed under her breath and suddenly hopped on him and hooked her legs around his hips. He stumbled back a step but managed to keep grip on her strong thighs. With her head now at level to him, she peppered him with deep kisses until she was clasped to him, their breathing growing deeper and louder. She nestled herself against him with a hypnotic dance where she glided her body against him, her breast resting against his chest and her rear teasingly rubbing his groin. Those alluring moans- they escaped from her lips, and it threw him off into an enraptured state. He wanted more.

With a tightened grip Cyril swerved forward and pressed Hilda against the wall. Their bodies curled into each other with hunger, their hearts thumping in wild, excited beats. The heat continued to build between them and was accelerated by their sounds of pleasure, a texture of lust cascading down the lustrous walls of rocks into the empty mountainscape. He slowly slid one palm up her skirt, flimsily feeling his way up until he felt the skin of her lovely curve that was tightened by years on a saddle. With tongue still clasped to him, Hilda wordlessly grabbed his hand and moved it to her breast. 

Cyril wasn’t religious, but he couldn’t help but thank the grace of Seiros for this heavenly moment.

Hilda’s hands travelled over his chest and shimmied his coat off his shoulders. He hastily freed his arms to pull it off. There was a shiver when the cool breeze brushed against his bare arms, which got Hilda to pull back to properly inspect his body. She slowly trailed her palms over his biceps to feel the tightness of his muscles and watched with glistening eyes as if she could see through his shirt. It felt weird to be visually dissected even when clothed, but it was worth it when he could witness that passionate lust aimed at him.

Her fingers delicately returned to his chest. They were eager. Hungry. “Shit, you’re perfect.”

Cyril began feeling hot all over. She dove for his neck and began pecking and sucking, her hands spreading over his chest and circling over his nipples, and also began to grind. He groaned and held onto the wall for support. His senses were overloaded and paralyzed his mind with constant pleasure. He clenched his fist and felt his hip jab forward. What was he doing? Thinking back on anything he could grasp for reference left him with dire results. He wasn’t good with visualizing the knights’ retellings of their ‘plunder’ as they always threw crude terms around or spoke in code, and the ones in relationships never shared their intimate moments either. The accidental displays of affection he walked into at school grounds were the closest he saw on sexual encounters, and none of them were as raw as this. To have the strongest woman grinding up on him was not something he ever imagined, but damn was it bloody amazing.

He had no choice but to improvise and let go of his restraints. He let his hip shift in tune with hers but ended up roughly rubbing against her undergarment. Hilda froze. Cyril bucked forward once more, unsure if he was doing it correctly. She pushed her forehead against his shoulder, moaning into his shirt as she gripped tightly onto his arms. As she grinded back he took it as a good sign and continued, the fabric the only barricade between his erection and her flesh. She sounded her desires louder, faster and faster in match with their movements. Hilda became desperate and her grinds became rougher. She ordered him to keep going and he responded with deeper thrusts. He never knew how beautiful her pleading could sound; she was reduced to garbles of his name, a shriveling mess who only wanted him to keep going. Thrust. She dug her nails in and muffled a scream into his shoulder, and then collapsed on him… but he kept going, feeling her spasm and squeak to his continuing rhythm. He eventually slowed down when he realized he was about to hit his own peak and slumped forward with her pressed between him and the wall.

The seconds passed with their huffing as they recovered their breathing, but neither wanted to separate from the other’s embrace. Cyril nuzzled her cheeks. Even with all the sweat she still smelled of flowers.

“You still think it’s a drab place?” He asked teasingly.

“Oh it is,” she winked. “We need to come here more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the chapter that gave this fanfic the E rating, but it's all dry humping lol. Honestly don't even know if it's written well.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda's day takes a turn for the worse.

Hilda couldn’t believe she climaxed from dry humping Cyril. When she first realized about his inexperience she planned to help him ease his way into a satisfying night, but she was surprisingly engrossed in tasting his mouth, ravishing his body, hearing his strangled voice as he tore himself for her pleasure. Her body sprung with jolts when he rubbed against her at just the right spot. Goddess, she didn’t estimate that she herself was the first to lose it so fast.

The sun hadn’t even set yet, and Myrtle was snugly warming up against the rocks. This was going to be an evening that she wanted to prolong as much as possible.

Hilda straightened up, her legs still wrapped around his hips. “You know you’re the first one to actually make me cum so fast?”

Cyril blushed with shock. He didn’t get a chance to answer though, choked to the gutter, when Hilda plucked the gloves off her hand one finger at a time, then reached under her thighs to palm his bulge. “It’s only fair if I return the favour, yes?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“Good. Take off your belt,” Hilda dropped into a whisper.

The belt was barely loosened when she slid her fingers under the hem and felt up his erection. He hissed, his pants pushing down with the trail of her finger in a playful, awful way, a torture that Hilda composed just so she could relish his reaction. She held his stare as if it was a challenge to see how long it’d take for him to break. She drank in the sight of his dilating pupils as they reacted to her delicately teasing her way up and down, spreading the bit of cum that already escaped.

She bit her lips. “I feel so bad. I want to tease you, but you’re near your limit. Should I keep it going for as long as I can?”

He flared his nostril and kept quiet, so she continued, gliding up and down along the shaft. He finally broke eye contact and slouched to her chest with agitated breaths. His hips began to buck again. She wrapped her hand fully around and began stroking.

He sucked in his breath and the muscles in his arms tightened. She tilted his head with her free arm, slipping her tongue down his mouth and taking in the bass vibration ringing through her with every pump. His movement tightened and his arms were painfully strained against the wall. Sweat poured down his temple when the needs built up faster with each of her stroke. Beat after beat his lower body danced to her tune, a spell so wicked Hilda took full pleasure in the control she manifested. Then there was the gasp, and with a final thrust the heat passed through her palms. Her fingers were completely drenched. Cyril broke from their kiss and stared at her satiated while catching his breath. 

“How did you wreck me this bad?” He muttered heavily with half-lidded eyes.

At last, Hilda freed her legs and dropped down to the floor. She wiped her hands against the rocks while keeping her eyes locked on him. “I can say the same to you, Cyril.”

With a sigh he pivoted his back to the wall next to her. “I guess we both really wanted this, huh?”

Hilda nodded, staring at his limp exposure. “I do hope you have nothing else planned for today, because I’ll make sure to keep you here until you’re all dried up.”

He followed her line of gaze and hastily tucked it in. Hilda sounded annoyed. “What is that for?”

Cyril blushed angrily. “It’s embarrassing to just stand around like this!”

“But there’s nobody around. It’s just me.”

He stared at her flabbergasted. “I…I suppose. I’m not used to this.”

All that assertiveness must have drained out with the climax. How amusing. Hilda sighed playfully. “I can’t believe you’re making me work for it.”

He relaxed and smirked. “Hey, if I can make you work it’d be an accomplishment.”

“Meanie.”

The view of the scenery was mesmerizing with the grey of the mountains and the blue of the sky, but they were too entranced in each other to relish it. Cyril stared at her shyly after a minute passed by, clearly wanting to ask something.

“Can I touch you again?” he asked shyly after her prompting, as if forgetting what they just did.

She smirked. “Come here,” Hilda closed in and Cyril gulped. He was too cute.

What made it all the more adorable was that Cyril decided to only brush her cheek.

“You know there’s more of me,” Hilda offered, leaning back against the wall and pushing her chest forward. He licked his lip as if debating how to approach, then stood over her, holding her hip with one hand and trailing the other from her cheek to her breast. He was focused, nervous, stiff.

“What’s wrong?” Hilda asked as she slid her hands under his shirt and rested on his hips. 

“Am…am I doing this right?”

Hilda raised a brow. “Cyril. Don’t worry about it. Just touch me.”

He mumbled in reluctant agreement and rolled his palm over her breast. She wondered if he could feel her hardening nipple through the corset. Her thumbs travelled down from his hip bones to where it bowed to the front of his belt, and it triggered a shiver out of him. Satisfied, she pushed her hands in to turn him around and pinned against the wall. Cyril stared wide-eyed as she hungrily went for his neck.

“Keep touching me,” she rasped.

With her pressed so desperately against him he removed his hand and squeezed her butt instead. She kept encouraging him and slowly shimmied his pants down with her thumbs.

But then Cyril let go and pulled his pants back up.

“Is something wrong?” Hilda asked concerned. Cyril wasn’t focused on her; he looked at the faraway with agitation.

“We are not alone,” Cyril muttered.

Hilda turned and squinted at the clouds and was about to question him, when she spotted small figures forming at a distance. They were growing into the shapes of five flying creatures with riders. They were heading towards them.

“We should hide,” Cyril grabbed her arm and headed behind large boulders, luring Myrtle over to duck along with them. The strangers landed at a flatter region below their level. Their skin was sickeningly pale, and they donned dark robes that were so unlike any of the ones of Fodlan that Hilda quickly associated them with the members they fought in Shambala. They began speaking to one another, but the range was too far. Hilda slowly crawled over with Cyril close behind.

Hilda craned her neck to hear the tallest one speak. “…to weaken their security then so we have an opening.”

“Thinning the vermin out would be the best way. We need to get a large number of them to be occupied in order for us to have a chance,” the scrawny one suggested.

“I do have an idea,” said the man with the brim hat. “Some of the imperial loyalists have collected and are preparing for an uprising. These rebels are quite numerous but have only held back because they’re waiting for an opportune time to attack.”

“Brilliant, Myson,” the tall one responded. “It appears their opportune time is closer than they think.”

“It is a good thing I planted seeds of information at a few of their bases,” Myson smirked. “With some tending, the sprouts should quickly grow and disperse, and the chaos it’d unfurl would be marvelous. The Fallen Star will be limited to stop them when they attack from multiple locations.”

“Excellent. Please do so, Myson. Cleobulus and Acantha, make due to see that his duty is fulfilled.”

Two members bowed. “Yes Periander.”

Periander hopped on his wyvern. “Let us return and see each other when the vile creatures have been exterminated.”

Hilda felt a tug at her cloak. Cyril looked at her carefully, his lips thinned. “We have to stop them.”

Hilda nodded. She didn’t understand the cryptic references of a Fallen Star, but attacks on multiple locations were never good news. Her palms were sweating at the realization that they didn’t have their weapons at hand. A quick assessment of the field made it clear they were outnumbered, and the mages were their biggest threat. It had been a few years since her last tactics lesson, but even she realized that with their disadvantage they had to consider some backhanded trickery. What would Claude do?

“We need to ambush Myson,” Hilda whispered, pinpointing the individual who seemed to lead the spurning of the imperial loyalists, the Adrestrian soldiers. They crouched down when the members began dispersing into the sky on their steed. They both shot up and jumped on Myrtle, who spread her wings and hit the air the second they got on. They quickly located Myson and kept a good distance from him, swinging behind boulders and trees to avoid being spotted. When it was clear that none of the other members were in range, Cyril lifted his arm to give Myrtle the go to strike. Myrtle dove in jaw first for the other wyvern’s tail and crushed the bones with such brute force that the sounds echoed across the mountains. The other roared in pain and turned back, and the two began slashing with their claws. Myson held onto the reigns, too focused on not letting go that he hadn’t noticed Hilda and Cyril. Myrtle tore at the enemy’s wing and pushed the creature underneath her, using its body to absorb most of the brunt force as they crashed onto the rocks below. Myson rolled out from the impact and groaned. Cyril shouted at Hilda, and she immediately leaped off and grabbed Myson by the throat before he had time to recover.

“Tell me where the imperial loyalist’s base is,” Hilda shouted. The warlock coughed and wrangled for his breath. She gripped tighter. His face contorted in anguish, but his acidic eyes pierced at her with vile hatred. _There’s no point in interrogation_ , she thought, _if we release him he’ll warn the others, and we don’t have a way to keep a mage captive._

She felt his weight shift and energy crackle from his palms. She had no time to wait. With both her hands she began choking him, his Bolting fading underneath when his body became limp. Behind her the dying shriek from the wyvern turned down into a whimper until it too collapsed to death.

“With this guy out of the picture, we’ll have at least disrupt the imperial loyalists from coordinating,” Cyril muttered. “That leaves those other two, but it’s too late to find them now.” He knelt down and rummaged through the body’s cloak but found nothing helpful.

“We need to warn the monastery,” Hilda sighed, realizing that she had to cross out her plan for an entertaining evening.

Their return flight was carried by a grim silence. They headed straight for the church and marched to the end of the halls. The dais that usually only beguiled by the throne and the stained windows was then surrounded by the backs of Byleth and a group of monks, their focus occupied by a purplish body that lay limp on the platform. The healers hastily threw a blanket over the body at the sound of their footsteps, turning around with their sides close to wall off the view. Byleth asked them for the reason of their interruption and Hilda quickly reiterated what they heard at the mountains. The guards and monks tensed. The archbishop was blank as always though, seemingly unsurprised by the revelation. She asked them for the location where the two found Those Who Slither in The Dark and folded her arms.

“That’s near Oghma…So they have been hiding around Zanado,” Byleth commented. “Thank you for the information. We have little time to prepare, so we must hasten ourselves. Hilda, I must apologize, but it would be best if you cut your visit short and head back to your home.”

“Byleth, I can’t believe you would actually let me off so fast,” Hilda placed a hand over her heart. “I’m glad you won’t make me join the front lines, but you can’t expect me to fully abandon you!”

“And I wouldn’t do so,” Byleth agreed. “But right now I need the nobles in the east to set arms. We don’t know where Those Who Slither in The Dark and imperial rebels will spring up, so I’d rather not have anyone taken off guard.”

“Wouldn’t it be faster to send messengers?” One of the monks suggested.

“I will send them out as well, but we cannot guarantee they will be safe,” Byleth answered. “Which is why I want you to personally warn Gloucester along the way, for assurance.”

Hilda finally nodded. “Okay. I will pack up and head out before sunset. But let me see what the plan is with you first.”

The archbishop smiled and gave her a hug. “Thank you.” She then held her tighter and whispered in her ear. “And before you leave…wait until the stars are up and see me at the front gates.”

Hilda kept her smile as she let go. Cyril stood on guard to the sides, twitching to get a word in. Byleth let him speak. “I will go north and warn House Gaspard and the others,” Cyril announced. She shook her head at that though. “No. I need the knights to be here. This is the location most likely to be targeted. Cyril-,” she added before Cyril could interrupt. “I know you want to help. I will make sure to send someone reliable to the other households, but you need to stay here. Understood?”

Cyril dropped his head in defeat. With a nod of dismissal, Byleth shouted orders to summon Seteth and advisors for preparations. Two guards quickly whisked away the blanketed shape in the direction pointed by Byleth. The way to the meeting room was tumultuous as a whirlwind of people stormed in and out carrying maps and cartographic equipment. Hilda fiddled with her hands as she followed the crowd, digesting the sudden turn of events. Just like that, she had only a few hours left to pack up and prepare a defensive plan that covered several houses along her journey back home. She’d have to quickly delegate this to her advisor and guards to see how that could be coordinated.

It was hard to ignore the dejected man on her way out though. The tension building around Cyril was damning. His brows were furrowed, his hands clenched to his sides.

“You must be worried about Ashe, huh?” Hilda stepped in front of him before they walked into the room.

Cyril took a deep breath. “Lady Byleth is right. I need to protect her first and foremost, but I am worried since only a handful of our knights are at House Gaspard. They have very few of their own soldiers, and the ones we trained are still green. They would be defenseless against any attacks.”

“Do you think an attack of Gaspard is high?”

“I dunno, Hilda.” He sighed. “I really wish I knew.”

Hilda placed a hand on his arm. “Cyril, we’ll figure this out. Byleth never failed to predict the enemy’s movement, and this won’t be any different.”

Cyril kept quiet as they joined the table. The seats slowly filled in by individuals of high statuette. Seteth walked in with Flayn silently flitting along, a sweet wave at Hilda as she passed by. Hanneman was coming in when the incoming number of people trickled down. He was about to apologize when a high-pitched voice interrupted him. “This must be very important if it had to interrupt our study! We were really close in finding something!”

Hanneman scowled at Lysithea when he closed the door, but she huffed and sat at the seat closest to the exit, her legs facing out in anticipation to dash at the first sign of adjournment. Hilda hadn’t seen her since the wedding vows were exchanged between her and Lorenz, so she was thrown off by the intricate flower fascinator dressing her trimmed head.

She was about to greet the little warlock and Hanneman when Seteth stood up and opened the meeting. He turned to Byleth.

“I am thankful that you all got here so quickly. The information I received needs immediate attention, so we need to go over it quickly and come up with a strategy. Hilda.” Byleth nodded over to Hilda. With a sigh she retold the grim information she picked up in the mountains. The advisors paled and began muttering what options were available to them.

“It appears we need to consider setting forces in areas where rebellions are most likely to spring up,” Seteth began. “If what you say is correct, that would also mean we can expect Those Who Slither in The Dark to take the opportunity of distraction to force their way into the monastery and target the archbishop.”

“We need to predict where they are most likely to come through if we want to intercept them,” one of the nobles suggested. One helper pulled out a map and laid it out on the table. They all leaned in and looked at the possible routes where attacks could form.

One soldier pointed at Hrym. “This is near where Shambala was destroyed. Most of Those Who Slither in The Dark perished during the collapse of the stronghold, but we shouldn’t cross out the possibilities that the survivors recollected over there.”

“If that’s the case, then Myrdin and Ordelia are the closest to them. We should reinforce their defense,” the advisor added. Lysithea nibbled on a fingernail. _That’s right,_ Hilda thought _, that was her former house before she relinquished it to nearby nobles._ Lorenz did write her that Lysithea had her parents housed under Gloucester so they could live quietly for their remaining years. What got the girl herself to be here without her husband under the roof of the monastery was something Hilda kept in mind for later.

“Based on where they were spotted, Those Who Slither in The Dark could also be concentrated near Zanado,” Byleth suggested.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Flayn mentioned. “The Red Canyon offers no place to hide for so many people.”

Hilda nodded along as her eyes trailed back to the map and listened to the discussions, not hearing anything contradictory. But then her eyes widened and turned to Cyril.

“Cyril, are you sure that Ashe would be in Gaspard right now?”

He raised a brow at the question. “As far as I know he was stuck in the castle with paperwork. The only gathering he mentioned was to attend the funeral-“ His eyes widened at the realization. The room fell silent.

“Dimitri’s funeral.” Hilda finished for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the turning point where the plot takes over. I always had a strong interest in the politics behind the game, but it's quite the hassle trying to untangle that mess, so I'm hoping readers will be able to follow. 
> 
> I created the extras based on the names that TWSITD are based on. Myson shows up in the game, but as I recall he gets away in VW, so he makes a return here only for Hilda to murder him. 
> 
> And here's my design of Lysithea post VW (she looks like a villain haha). Anyone can guess why she looks so haggard?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril catches up with Lysithea

Seteth looked at the map. “It is the Great Tree Moon. It is exactly five years since the battle at Gronder Field ended Dimitri’s life, the last king of the former Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. It would be the time for the lords who were close to him to visit his grave on that field…”

“With so many powerful leaders in one area, they’d be easy targets for an ambush,” a soldier added. “Plus Gronder Field is near Hrym and is within the former territory of the Adrestian Empire. There might be rebels lurking in that area.”

“House Varley and Bergliez would be the faster respondents for this,” one advisor concluded. “We should give them word so they can have battalions ready. If we head to Myrddin and round up forces there, we’d be able to pinch any attackers and prevent them from escaping.”

“But what about Ashe?” Cyril asked.

“Cyril,” Lady Byleth turned to him. “We will keep all of this in consideration when we plan this out.”

He folded his arms at that. “How’d ya pull that off?”

All the noise was swallowed up when Lady Byleth planted her hands onto the table and her cold, calculating eyes drifted over the map. She formed a slick grin.

“You know that the reenactment of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion have been discontinued right? Gronder Field is no longer a battleground and parts of the land are still fertile for Bergliez to reclaim as crop fields.”

“Those abandoned lots would let them fester without being exposed,” Seteth continued with the thought.

The woman nodded. “I will concoct the plans with a smaller team. Everyone else, please see me tomorrow as Seteth calls you in.”

And with a final wave of her arm everyone was dismissed. Lysithea had noticed Cyril and Hilda during the meeting and trudged over. Any other eyes would wander over the fine hat and well-embroidered shawl that draped over her shoulders, but Cyril could immediately pick out her worn down countenance against her neatly trimmed hair. It was only in her bright, fiery eyes that Cyril was reassured that she still carried on strong.

“Hey Lys,” Cyril smiled.

Lysithea’s scowl deepened. “Don’t give me that. You never wrote me back this entire year. Makes me think that you are purposely ignoring me.”

“Whaat? ‘scuse me, but I believe someone said that the next time we talked would be when we ate cake!”

The girl folded her arms. “Which was supposed to mean that you need to come for a visit! Cyril, you may be a fast learner, but you can be so dense!”

Cyril poked her forehead. “Then ya should have just said so. What’re ya doing here anyway?”

“Yeah, Lysithea,” Hilda grinned. “Is Lorenz here with you?”

“No, no,” Lysithea shook her head. “I…I became… interested in doing some Crestology research. Lorenz funded my project so I could work with Professor Hanneman.”

“You never mentioned that you liked Crestology,” Hilda commented. Thinking back, it was clear that it was even the opposite based on how Lysithea scrunched her nose whenever the topic was covered in class.

“People change, okay?” She glared. Professor Hanneman came from behind and greeted them all. Other than the additional wrinkles and the faint receding hairline, he seemed to be the same. He nudged the group to leave, so they all gathered in Manuela’s former infirmary that Lysithea refurbished for her research. Cyril and Lysithea carried on with the banter as if there hadn’t been a year since they studied under the same classroom; there was an ease in their backs that showed the comfort of good friends with bonds as strong as blood. When Cyril finally asked why she looked so sickly, she deflected with a monologue about her current research with dry details of Crestology application.

“It is wonderful that you two are having a good time,” Hilda backed out towards the hall. “I should head out then, it had been quite the day and I still need to meet up with Seteth. Bye bye!”

Hilda didn’t even bother looking at him before she slipped out of the door, otherwise she would have noted the pleading in Cyril’s eyes to be rescued from the academic lecture.

“So are you going to battle?” Cyril jumped in before Lysithea had a chance to continue.

Lysithea stared at the papers scattered across the desk. “If there was one thing I regret, it’s that Those Who Slither in The Dark got away with the crimes they had committed with Shambala destroyed. But it looks like there were survivors after all like the cockroaches they are. I will find Those Who Slither in The Dark and I want to witness the moment when we take them down once and for all.” She looked up, the fire burning in her eyes. “So yes, I will be there in the front lines.

“So are you stationed here?” Lysithea asked. Cyril shrugged. He was dependent on Lady Byleth’s orders as a member of the Knight of Seiros, but he wished he could be at Ashe’s side to make sure he was safe. Lady Byleth clearly demonstrated her abilities as a fighter, and the monastery was well equipped for an attack. On the other hand, a small group travelling from the former Kingdom of Faerghus to the opposite side of the country would be more vulnerable – they’d be exhausted, ill armed, and possibly outnumbered. Would Ashe receive the warning early enough? Did he have the means to buff his team?

“Where is it that you want to go?” She whispered, clearly noticing that he was distraught. Lysithea pulled him over and to her seat behind the desk. “Is this about Ashe?” She asked. She knew of their bonds through the stories Cyril wrote about, whining and praising about the small antics Ashe would overcome in the strings of politics.

Cyril sighed and held onto her shawl. “He has some guards who are always by his side. Plus, Dimitri’s other friends must be travelling together with him if they are all attending the funeral. Sylvain, Mercedes… He will be safe. He’ll be safe…”

“Cyril, get yourself together.” She gripped his hands, but hers were comparatively small and only wrapped around his fingers. “We all fought together against the empire, Those Who Slither in The Dark, _and_ Nemesis. They are warriors who had been fighting for years. Some measly rebels are not going to take them down. Just because you’re not there doesn’t mean Ashe will be lost. Didn’t you say yourself that he can see almost as far as you? How you always seem to end in a tie when you compete in archery?”

Cyril chuckled. He gripped back. “You’re right. I need to remind myself that I don’t need to protect everyone all the time.”

“Yup, I’m always right,” she grinned. “That aside, how’s Hilda doing?”

He choked. Her name alone was enough to bring back the sound of her moans in his head. It felt like days have passed, but it was mere hours since the two ravaged each other in the mountains.

“Y-yeah, she’s been good. She came to Garreg Mach yesterday and we bumped into each other.”

Lysithea inspected him carefully. “That’s all?”

“W-waddaya mean?” His face flushed.

“You’re blushing, for one thing, so there must be more to it. Are you two dating?”

He almost squeezed her hands in reflex. If there was one thing he avoided, it was gossip. “Dating? Iunno, I wouldn’t say that we are…”

“But something is going on between you two?” Her eyes were sparkling in excitement.

“I think so.”

“What does that mean? There either is or isn’t. Does she not like you or something? Is she giving you a hard time? Why, I ought to just talk to her myself-” Lysithea got up, ready to go after Hilda.

“Wait!” Cyril grabbed her arm. “That’s not what it is.”

Lysithea stared at him intently, waiting for him to explain.

“I- we uhmm… It’s kinda awkward to explain…” Cyril rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants.

“Try me.”

He paused. “I kinda like her, and I think she does too, but we didn’t _say_ it. You know what I mean?”

“I don’t,” she frowned. “You never mentioned this before, and now you bump into her and in one day you’re blushing like a maiden when you hear her name. What happened?”

That’s right, it had only been a day. “It just… happened. I don’t know what it is, but now I…want her.”

“How do you know if she’s interested in you?” Lysithea folded her arms.

He nodded, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. “Yeah, uhhh, cuz we… umm…kissed.” Cyril gulped. He’d rather not go into further detail.

Her eyes widened at his pause. Her cheeks rounded by her wide grin. “Oh, Cyril! What are you even saying? That sounds like good news to me!”

Cyril grimaced in embarrassment as she lunged herself at him, squealing about the wonderful marriage ceremony and the way they’d stare at each other with endearment. She spilled out her dreams of watching her children play with Cyril’s, her enthusiasm so contagious that his brewing uncertainty simmered down. Just the idea of Hilda and him sneaking kisses made him bubbly - but to be married! _And children!_ What a thought!

The evening bell announced the hour of sundown, triggering a yawn out of Lysithea. She apologized, explaining that these days she needed to make sure she kept up with her sleep.

“Oh, and Cyril,” Lysithea walked him out to the hallway and stopped to lean against the door frame. “I don’t know how long my study will continue, so just send the letters to Garreg Mach, okay?”

“Will do,” he nodded.

She was fiddling with her fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t really explain myself before, but I promise I’ll write it all out in my next letter. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

Cyril leaned down. “Lys, I wished you’d tell me why you’re getting sick, but I ain’t mad. You have Lorenz by your side. If anything, I’m glad I could see your cute smile again.”

Lysithea blushed and huffed. “Cyril! You’re doing it again!”

He grinned and jumped back when she was about to smack him.

Just as quickly she regained her composure and grinned mischievously. “Looks like I should go to sleep. You have some other work to deal with.”

“Huh? Whaddaya mean?” Cyril asked.

She waved her hand. “Goodnight, Hilda!” and shut the door.

Cyril froze and turned to find Hilda outside of Seteth’s office, staring at him.

“Looks like you had a long chat with Lysithea,” she grinned and called goodnight to the little warlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Lysithea is a favourite romantic partner to Cyril, I do like the idea that she'd be his best friend (next to Ashe) if they don't get together. They just have nice chemistry!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where pressure starts to sink in.

There was an ugly side in adoring a man that only revealed itself in the presence of another woman. Even if married, seeing Lysithea so comfortable around Cyril stirred Hilda’s urges to hide him from everyone’s eyes. She rigidly kept up her smile when they began bantering in Lysithia’s study about Crestology. A yawn was itching in. Her safest bet was to leave altogether, so she retreated to the office next door.

Seteth welcomed her in when she rapped against the door. His gaze was relaxed, but when Hilda walked in she watched in shock at the stress he amassed in the actual office: Maps, plans and files piled up in stack atop of his desk, dozens of books that found no space in the overfilled shelf were spilled over the chest trunk, and the walls were brimmed with schedules and lists marked with emblems of the classes and the church. His eyes lit up when she walked in and with the one free hand he led her to the empty chair. She apologized for her interruption but Seteth didn’t seem bothered- he even appreciated her visit.

“I must apologize for the chaos. I wanted to discuss a new fable I created, but with the dire situation we are in, we will have to postpone our discussion until after this is settled.” Seteth scrambled back through the papers and finished stamping them off.

The two of them somehow became good acquaintances in the final months before Edelgard declared war against the Church of Seiros. Once he began telling the fables he created for Flayn, the rigid façade broke down and all she could see was an endearing older brother who had a soft spot for children, and she began helping to fine-tune the stories and compiled them into soft-clothed books. She snuck one to her academy and quickly discovered they were popular with the students, and thus began the partnership of the famed storyteller and editor.

“That’s understandable. I sent a message to my team to pack up and get ready to leave, so I have some time to spare.” She peeked at the other stack lined up for him. “It looks like there are quite a few senior students ready for the master classes?”

“Indeed.” He stamped off another certificate. “This year’s pack has a lot of promise, but it’s unfortunate that they’re likely to be dragged into this conflict. There were a few who already requested to be drafted.”

“I never understood that logic. You just learned how to fight; you shouldn’t risk your life for a war.” Hilda thinned her lips.

Seteth gave her a knowing smile.

Hilda inspected the wall of notes and hummed quietly, the scratching of the quill and the thuds of the wax seal giving track of Seteth’s progress. 

“Hilda,” Seteth eventually spoke up. “How come you are idling here? Should you not prepare for departure?”

“Oh, no,” Hilda waved off the thought. “I just needed some quiet time after that kerfuffle with Those Who Slither in The Dark.”

“That’s right, Lady Byleth mentioned that you and Cyril discovered the conspiracy near Oghma. What led you to be in that location to begin with?”

Hilda carefully stared at him. Even though he focused on his papers, the knowing voice bore into her soul yet again, just as when she was a student and couldn’t get away from skipping lessons when he was around.

“Cyril heard how I was working on a new set of jewelry and showed me these wonderful deposits over at those mountains. They were these _beautiful_ deep blue colour. You should have seen them.”

“Is that so? Sounds like you had a marvelous time.” Another stamp.

“Oh, yes, it was quite the discovery.”

“You should consult Cyril more often. He had been travelling around these landmarks, so he probably has a few locations to show you.”

Hilda traced a finger over the map on the wall. “I was hoping he’d do that.”

Seteth got up and moved over to the tea set, and after Hilda agreed to have some as well, set up the water to boil. His quiet stance as he handled the samovar simmered with gentle intensity. Hilda could never pin down the enigma of this man, but eventually realized that he reminded her of the ocean; his strength had the volume of the tumultuous waves, yet his wisdom was as mysteriously deep as the dark trenches.

“I know this is unbecoming of me, but I want to tell you something,” Seteth began as he brewed the tea. “You are one of the few people I have come to trust in this volatile place. You may not think of yourself that way, but you have shown that you are a strong, capable young woman, and you have accomplished much in your youth that has helped many of us, including myself.”

Hilda wasn’t sure where he was going with this. The smell of spices wafted through the room.

“As your former supervisor at the school I can’t help but feel pride to have witnessed your growth into a fine leader. That said, having a partner is often a vital stepping stone in furthering yourself, so I am interested in knowing if any impulsions have taken grasp in that decision.”

He poured out the tea and served Hilda a cup. The warmth of the porcelain was soothing against her hands.

“I understand that Cyril has grown a liking for you. Do you reciprocate his feelings in the same manner?”

The tea almost splashed out of her cup. She chuckled nervously. “Seteth! I appreciate that you worry about me, but there’s no need to discuss my private affairs!”

Seteth sat down with his cup behind the desk. “You have every right to make your choices. It is just… Cyril is a young man who had no guardian growing up, so I’ve come to watch over his wellbeing from afar. I do want to make sure that his future leads to that of promise.”

“Seteth, you are being silly. We’ve only seen each other for a day, and you’re already convinced that something is going on? That seems a bit unfair.”

“I suppose so,” Seteth agreed. “At the end of the day it’s not my business. You can choose whoever you like, but I must insist that you speak with Cyril before you leave tonight.”

Hilda sipped her tea carefully. The warmth coursing through helped mediate the irritation she felt, and she nodded. She diverted the conversation to inconsequential pleasantries, but all she could think about was how Byleth laid out her hands and assumed a romance with Cyril, and now Seteth was expecting some commitment too. It was ridiculous what leaps they had to take when they only just caught up.

Her cup was eventually empty. The pile of paper eventually thinned out and Seteth released a deep sigh. Now that his weekly work was complete, he had to dive into the logistics in the upcoming defenses, so he asked Hilda to call it a night. With promises to continue further in the next letters, Hilda turned to the door….then froze.

There were the two all-too familiar voices speaking in whispers on the other side of the wall. She listened to the high pitched voice as Lysithea spoke with sincerity about writing to Cyril. Was it alright to interrupt them? What would Cyril think of her?

“Is everything alright?” Seteth asked from the desk.

Hilda nodded. “Yeah, I just remembered there was someone else I needed to talk to as well. It’s hard keeping up with all these errands.”

Seteth shook his head in amusement. Hilda had no choice but to walk out.

“Looks like I should go to sleep. You have some other work to deal with,” Lysithea said as she entered the hallway.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Cyril’s back was facing her. His back that beckoned her over to feel the broadness.

“Goodnight, Hilda!” Lysithea shouted from her study and shut the door. The muscles in his back tightened when he heard her name. Hilda responded with her sweet goodnights, her eyes glued on Cyril as he turned around to face her.

The eye contact was enough to dry up her throat. Cyril murmured a nervous ‘hey’. He was so cute when he shuffled forward, debating where to look, like a boy trying to shyly make his first move.

He stood close and eventually settled his eyes on her. “Looks like it’s getting late, huh?” Cyril’s voice wavered.

Hilda nodded. Why was he nervous all of a sudden? Especially after that mountain scene?

Cyril gingerly held her hands. They were so much larger than hers, the fingers calloused and cut from pulling the bowstring. “I guess ya have to leave now, is that why you’re so quiet?”

She was entranced by the way his hands wrapped around hers. His dark, beautiful skin. “…I suppose.”

He began rubbing circles in her palms. She looked up. He was just quietly staring at her. He lowered his head, his glances falling to her lips. 

“Cyril…” Hilda carefully choked out his name. How she wanted to stand on her toes and kiss him. How she wanted to pull him in and take him down the hallway, down into an empty room and touch him, hold him, taste him…

_Do you reciprocate his feelings in the same manner?_

Her heart tugged, but she reminded herself what she edged towards. She was luring Cyril in for her own pleasures, letting him dance to her tune while ignoring his growing attachment to her. She would keep poor Cyril yearn until she got bored, walk away and let him fall into the depths of despair, ignoring his rioting pleas and hurt. That was who Hilda was. She never settled with one man too long, and it wasn’t right to mislead Cyril into believing he could.

She gripped his hands back. “I can’t do this.”

He froze. There was a split second of hurt in his eyes. “Why?”

“Because…” She tried to find the right words, but all sounded crueler than the other. “I…I don’t know where _this_ is supposed to go.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, look -,” Hilda laced her fingers through his. “We only saw each other for a day, and now we’re holding hands? Isn’t that weird to you? Why now all of a sudden? What is this?”

He stared at her fingers. “I dunno, Hilda. What is it you want?”

“I – I…” Hilda was tongue-tied. Why was she feeling so indecisive?

Cyril wasn’t persuaded. It was clear when his eyes continued praising her. “To be honest, I find it really weird too, whatever you wanna call this. But I gotta say, it’s not so bad,” he grinned sheepishly. “Maybe it’s because it’s… you.”

He actually made her blush. Hilda controlled her breathing, but her chest kept singing the longer she observed that wondrous stare of his. He placed his forehead against hers, his hair strands falling on her cheeks.

She lifted her head and brushed her nose against his. He fluttered his eyes shut, the lashes tickling her skin. Their lips were a mere hair width apart. Their breath mingled with a desire to close the space between them.

“I need to go.”

Hilda pulled out of his grasp and headed for the staircase.

“Hilda?” Cyril quickly held the shoulder, and the touch was enough to melt her stride. Hilda had to fight the urge to turn back and hold him. No, she didn’t want to break his heart. She hated how conflicted she felt.

“Can you please let me go?“ she rasped.

“Not until ya tell me what’s wrong. Was it something I said?”

“No, it’s not that-“

“Did I do something?”

“No, Cyril –“

“Hilda, don’t just leave without explaining. Please –“

“I don’t know, Cyril!”

She never vented. That wasn’t her style. Yet the last two days of confused feelings was shortening her emotional fuse. Cyril stared – confused, worried, hurt – and released her.

“Sorry.”

Why was he apologizing? It wasn’t his fault. Hilda wanted to explain her turmoil, but instead she turned and escaped down the stairs.

Cyril didn’t follow.

\+ + +

The constellations were clear tonight. The caravan line was ready to set and waited at the gate as the final count was completed. The advisor and right hand knight were ill with unease when Hilda refused to get into the carriage, but were patient enough with her assurance to just wait.

Hilda sighed and leaned against one of the stands in the marketplace. The chipper dabbers of her comrades were a good commodity to carry her through these hours, but it was hard to pretend that remorse was not seeping in.

“I’m glad I caught you on time.”

Hilda sprung up when the dark blue haired archbishop waved her over behind the curtain of the market stand.

“Well if this isn’t secretive. Do you have something for me?” Hilda whispered with false excitement.

Byleth’s blank eyes showed no reaction. “Yes. Take this letter to Holst, and make sure no one is aware of this. Only he is to open it. Understood?”

Hilda tactfully took the letter and stared at the wax seal. The Crest of Flames. “Byleth, there’s no way I wouldn’t be curious about this! I am not one for adultery, but if it means to have you in my family, I wouldn’t mind running these errands.” She winked.

This time Byleth rolled her eyes. “It’s serious. There is also a route we have planned and provided to your caravan leader so that you can meet with Lorenz and give him this message,” she handed her a second letter that had a seal, but this one with the Crest of Seiros. “So if all works right you should be able to be back in Goneril within a week.”

Hilda held the letter carefully. “You sure the message can wait a week?”

“Yeah…” Byleth smiled. “It’s more important you make it there safe and sound.”

Hilda tugged the letter into her small satchel attached to her belt. The clacking of the hooves against the cobblestones could be heard as the horses were reigned in. Two scouts returned and confirmed that the road was clear. 

“So this is it, huh.” Hilda’s eyes were glazing. Byleth hummed in agreement and squeezed her shoulder. Hilda batted the tears away and forced a smile. “This was such a waste of a trip, you know that? Who’d have thought I’d come all the way down here only for you to kick me out? You have some nerve, Byleth.”

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t be so audacious as to go after one of my knights.”

Hilda giggled, then let out a sigh. “I messed up, Byleth.”

Byleth raised a brow.

“Cyril likes me.” Hilda was waiting for a reaction, but Byleth knew that there was more to the story and let her silence push her to continue. “I freaked and ran off.”

“Why did you run off?” Byleth raised her index finger at the shouting advisor to wait for one more minute.

Hilda thinned her lips. “I was afraid that knowing that I was leaving tonight, I would just let him wait here. It’s best that we didn’t start anything; it’d just bring hurt.”

Byleth stared at her eyes. “But you hurt anyway.”

Hilda agreed.

“To be honest, you’re clearly daft.”

Hilda gaped at her in surprise. Even through all her failed grades and lack of participation, Byleth never stooped down to insult her.

Byleth shrugged. “If you need me to elaborate you’d prove my point.”

Hilda huffed. The advisor became more insistent and shouted for Hilda with a booming voice, to which Hilda finally answered by stepping out of the stall. “Well, seems I have to go. I’ll make sure to give my brother the letter. Once this is all settled I’ll come back and we can discuss part two of the academy project, alright?”

Byleth stood up and bowed. “Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure to come by for a visit as well.”

“Please do.”

Hilda’s lips flipped up into a bright smile as she hopped onto the carriage. The gates opened, the lashes struck the start, and the cargo wheels that tittered over the stones mulled when it rolled onto the soft dirt. 

Records gathered of these travels spoke dearly of the daughter of House Goneril. The sunshine couldn’t be compared to the brightness she brought to the arduous trip with her banter and cheerfulness. It was only within the walls of the private carriage that the iron maiden would drop her smile and let silence take up the tristful night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaa I'm sorry for the delineation, but I feel that they move too fast (it's been one day haha) so they'd need time to reflect. At this point it'll be more of them processing while the plot takes over.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril finds Ashe.

Hilda’s racing footsteps bellowed up the staircase where Cyril was still solidly afoot. He didn’t understand what just happened, but the tremor in her voice made it clear that she set a boundary between them. His chest gnawed as he slowly traced the last of her touch in his palm.

After waiting for some time it was clear that she was gone. He built up the idea that he could spend the last moments before her departure with kisses and loving touches, yet here he was by himself. She was gone. The few hours with her were not enough to consider himself special. But were they clearly done? On the one hand it seemed she hoped to get away without having to deal with him, but the way her lips quivered when she spewed out hesitant words made him wonder whether he should have pushed for a clearer answer. 

As he returned to the knight’s hall, the few barren beds stood out against the ones occupied by the sleeping soldiers, as if bragging about the missing comrades who had ventured out to spend the night with more attractive members. Cyril snuffed the candles out. At least those guys had comfort in another person’s arms. Cyril quickly tucked himself in, pressing his forehead into the pillow and allowing frustrated tears to be absorbed into the fabric. 

\+ + +

General Alois assigned the patrol routes to the knights and allocated special forces to guard the Holy Tombs, the Archives, and the Archbishop’s study. Lady Byleth stood atop the terrace, browsing through the blocks of soldiers and nodding towards the captains as they accepted their orders.

The throbbing in Cyril’s head became harder to ignore when the knights chanted in unison. The little sleep he could muster was not enough to bat the dryness off his eyes. He listened to the locations the teams were assigned to and visualized a map with the layout. The radius the knights covered was large enough to overlap with neighbouring houses. His group, the Knights of the Western Church, was assigned to guard the northern perimeter of Garreg Mach - Oghma.

The mountain range of Oghma was a perfect protection in itself and the topography was to their advantage. Any invading forces would be easily spotted and annihilated before coming too close. And of course, it would be the fastest way to intercept the lords who passed through.

Lady Byleth nodded towards them. 

Cyril thinned his lips. This was where he discovered Those Who Slither in The Dark yesterday. He hoped he had the vantage point to find Ashe before them.

\+ + + 

The scaffolds stretched to both ends of the mountain range, with flags hoisted along the points swerving to the cold winds. Cyril noticed new faces that were still swell with excitement even while puffing white breaths in the frigid cold. How stupid. There would be no honorable battles in this area. This would be nothing more than simple patrolling along narrow wooden paths, and it was either the seeping cold or standing boredom that would kill them.

Myrtle was at the foot of the valley with the rest of the wyverns in a circle around the bonfire. The cold slowed down their blood circulation enough to hinder them in a battle, so they were mere décor to intimidate oncoming fliers.

Peering across the drab place burned his eyes. There were greys and whites, rocks and snow. There was little to get the mind involved, so perfect for him to torture himself with remorseful hindsight. He knew that it wasn’t worthwhile to wreck his brain about Hilda - she didn’t want him – but the tugging in his heart hoped that it was just a misunderstanding and that he still had a chance to see her. What was wrong with him? Why did he want her so badly?

He left his post and wandered down the scaffold, ignoring the huffs of the new soldiers and stopped to get updates from the downstream posts. Nothing to report. A few migrating birds. It was too early in the morning for anyone to take action.

He eventually walked into his commander, one of the original members of the Western Church. To this day, the words exchanged were few, but there was an unspoken respect between the two with war-torn pasts. Cyril asked if lords had crossed the mountains but only received dodgy words, but the way the commander’s eyes locked onto him while he tossed his helmet between his hands hinted that one of the mercenaries in the passerby group was one Cyril was interested in. The mention of ashen hair and hazel eyes was enough of an indication that Cyril bowed and rushed down to get to Myrtle.

He flew downwind toward the border gates, quickly locating the obvious tracks in the snow, and followed it at such velocity that Cyril caught up to the group before the sun dipped from the peak. The lack of banner made their affiliation questionable, but once he got close enough he recognized the cream coat of the stallions he used to tend to. It was the silver bow latched across the ever so familiar back that caught his attention, and he leaped straight for Ashe, striking him off his horse and bringing blades out from the surrounding guards. If it had been any other whose wind was knocked out, Cyril would have been struck the very second; but Ashe reflexively recovered and quickly recognized the dark skinned youngling and raised his arm to wave the guards off.

“What are you doing here, Cyril?” Ashe’s gasped for air before his moustache broadened into a smile so summery it felt out of place in this cold landscape.

Cyril got off him and pulled him up. “Had to make sure y’were alright, Ashe.”

Ashe looked over to the distant scaffolds along the mountains. “You didn’t actually leave your post, did you?”

Cyril followed the direction of his eye line. Déjà vu. “They have more than enough eyes over there. I’m more worried about you, so here I am.”

Cyril explained that they could walk into an ambush by Those Who Slither in The Dark and Adrestian Empire loyalists in Gronder Field. It was worth a shot, but Ashe could not be dissuaded from missing the funeral.

“Goodness. It’s quite awful to have Dimitri’s death attract so much violence around him.” Mercedes flipped over her face screen and used her coat to clean the dirt off of Ashe’s long locks.

There was a scoff coming from the side. “You’re talking as if the boar was doing it himself. Those bastards are using his death to get to us, nothing else.”

“That’s true.” Cyril saw Leonie answer the man of sharp eyes. She looked more and more like a mercenary, with her wild hair and worn-down outfit, yet it somehow accentuated her womanly features all the more. “But knowing this we have an advantage.”

Felix nodded. His appearance matched that of Leonie’s, but his coat was even more haggard.

“And maybe one of the lordlings can pay us a hefty sum for each head?” Leonie suggested and glanced over at Sylvain, whose eyes quickly jumped up from her hips as he ran a hand through his beard. 

“You know I would love to assist you in any way, Leonie, but not before you give me an answer to my question as well.”

Felix rolled his eyes. Leonie blushed with a frown. “I don’t see why I should validate that kind of stupid request.”

Sylvain shook his head, his braid flinging from side to side. Sylvain’s notorious playboy reputation was known to Cyril, but his charming presence and ambition reminded him too much of Claude to consider him a lackluster leader. “How my delicate heart cracks.”

Rodrigue carried himself through the crowd using a crutch. “Lord Gaspard, what do you think we should do? I hope the archbishop has given a letter of advice?”

Cyril never spoke with the Head of Fraldarius, but saw him from afar during his duties as knight and advisor. The lord survived the Imperial forces’ attack with paralyzed legs, but he insisted on honoring Dimitri’s death in this funeral. Cyril shook his head. “No, she hadn’t. I do think the knights near Gronder Field know more.”

“Sounds like this was all slapped together in a rush,” Sylvain smiled grimly. “I guess it’s an advantage that our group is so small, at least that way we can react quickly to any attacks. It would be good to send out scouts ahead at a frequent basis.”

Mercedes face lit up. “Cyril, why don’t you be our eyes from above?”

The mercenaries grimaced with annoyance, with Leonie voicing out that they were specifically hired to secure their safety in this journey, not Cyril. But Mercedes didn’t bend, and Ashe’s agreement obliged them to quiet down. Relief flooded through Cyril when he was accepted, and he lifted himself up on Myrtle to scout ahead.

Thus the travel of an inconspicuous group of well-groomed men bearing no coats of armor wandering through borders began. The scouting wyvern swerved in circles and regularly returned with no reports. When dusk broke in, Mercedes waved Cyril down to settle in for a meal. The mercenaries set up camp while Sylvain and Ashe discussed the rations for the winter around the fire pit. Cyril wound his shoulders and dropped down next to Mercedes so he could avoid hearing the dry discussion, and gratefully accepted the sweets she produced from her basket.

“So how was Garreg Mach, Cyril?” Mercedes asked sweetly, cleaning off the crumbs off his chin. He whined and pulled back, which only made her giggle.

Cyril groaned and took another bite. “The monastery was fine. Lady Byleth was very busy, but she was always there when people asked for her.”

“I hear they built new structures.”

He nodded while he was chewing, giving in to her wiping after him. “The dormitories are not enough for the hundreds of students, so they’re adding more. It was my first time there as a knight, but I must say the knight’s hall is very different.”

“I suppose they demolished the ones that led to the dungeons though.”

Cyril nodded. The area where Manuela was attacked and Flayn kidnapped was covered with a sealed pad that was now used as a pathway. Mercedes nodded in sync. 

“Was Gilbert there?”

Cyril shook his head. Gilbert disappeared during Dimitri’s first ‘assassination’ but was reported to be spotted all across Faerghus. Annette was missing during the war, but it was later revealed that she was under house arrest in the barony of Dominic after she attempted to steal the Hero’s Relic. When everything was settled, the surviving Blue Lions tried to get her released with no success, and they lost all contact with her when she got married off to a local councilor. There was a mutual understanding to never speak of Annette in fear of Mercedes’ state, but she handled her grief better than most of them.

“I did see Hilda and Lysithea in the monastery,” Cyril added, hoping Mercedes wouldn’t dwell too much on her lost friend. Leonie overheard and hopped in front of him, asking what her fellow Golden Deer were up to. Cyril tried to sound apathetic and only highlighted their professional discourse, but the two women started drilling him with questions faster than he could answer – “Why wasn’t Lorenz there with Lysithea?” “Is Hilda still slacking off?” “So Lysithea is staying in Garreg Mach indefinitely?” “Did Hilda settle with anyone yet?”

Cyril jumped up. “Slow down! I only saw them for a day!”

Leonie lifted her hands in apology. “My bad, my bad. It’s just I haven’t seen any of you guys in a while. Glad to see you’re well though! How’s archery going?”

The conversation quickly turned on sharing their archery techniques. Leonie’s mercenary travel with Felix across the eastern and northern Fodlan allowed her to discover a range of arts and she wanted to compare them with the ones taught by the Knights of Seiros. Cyril grinned at the challenge and they set up an archery contest, shooting arrows through trembling aspen trees and birches hidden behind the oaks, and when scores stayed even, the competition escalated to ridiculous stunts that pulled enough of a crowd that it caught Ashe’s attention. Once he came in to join, it devolved into a mess of shouts and chaos as they raced to shoot the pheasant they spotted in the bush. Although all three managed to cage it in with their flanks, it was Leonie’s arrow that sank into the bird’s heart, and with a victorious cry she shouted for the losers to down a keg each. The party broke into a cheer as Ashe and Cyril worked through the cider, and when they finally cleared it the two bellowed into a song about their achievement with a vigorous chant so catchy that the chorus widened to the audience.

The energy eventually simmered down when the night swept in, and only Lady Byleth’s students remained around the fire pit. Felix and Leonie sat side by side, eyes alert as hawks while they kept the fire alive in the pit. Cyril and Ashe were fighting to stay awake and leaned on each other’s shoulders for support. Mercedes sewed patches on clothes while listening to Sylvain’s stories of his encounter with the leader of Sreng. With a boisterous voice he detailed the story of the visit, jauntily telling the egregious climb over the permafrost to the former part of Fodlan, but simmered into whispers during the tense engagement with their Queen. The others perked their ears and leaned forward.

Sylvain grinned when he caught everyone in his snare of words. He pulled up his hand and wiggled his middle finger. “All the negotiations aside, this tool worked more magic in getting myself that peace treaty with the fine lady. And now I’m on frequent visits with the neighbouring country, not with the purpose of war, but for love.”

Felix slapped his forehead and Leonie grimaced. Ashe and Cyril slowly turned their heads to each one, not understanding the implication.

“Ashe, Ashe…” Sylvain grinned and sat over to them. “As a gallant knight you have to charm the people, but you need to understand that the lady needs to be pleased in other special ways.”

Ashe furrowed his brow. “Sylvain, I told you that I don’t agree with your view of what a knight does. We are not here to play with a woman’s heart.”

Sylvain tutted. “Aah, but this is where it’s different. Maybe not now, but one day you will have that someone who you want to commit to. The poetic words can sway her, your sweet gestures will flatter her, but there’s only one way you can really stir her, and you need to do it right.”

Ashe stilled. Cyril quickly sobered up and listened intently. Mercedes folded the piece and reached for the next tunic to mend. Felix curiously glanced at Leonie, who furiously stared daggers at Sylvain’s back.

“So Ashe, I’ll take it you are familiar with the beautiful creation that is the woman’s body.” Ashe nodded shyly. “Right. It is important that in that private moment that you worship her every bit. Touch her, taste her. But to properly elate her you need to appreciate her _below_.”

Leonie huffed in embarrassment and strutted off. Everyone else was drinking up his words.

“Yeah, you’re t-talking about t-t-the _union,_ I know that!” Ashe stumbled over his words. Sylvain held his shoulder.

“Ashe, if it was just that, then the sex will not be satisfying at all.”

Cyril shuffled in his seat. He vividly remembered how Hilda possessively clung on, her hips rounding against him, and her lips sipping every bit of his skin in her arid voice.

Sylvain decided that it was time to divert from his tale to a lecture. He sat on a log and placed his hands affront as if to hold an imaginary woman on his lap. He began moving his hands while describing the course so unabashedly that Felix sat back with gritted teeth, but Ashe and Cyril followed his movement with shy curiosity. Sylvain grinned when he reached ‘her’ core and began stroking. Mercedes just nodded to validate that his layout of the anatomy was correct insofar. 

“Now the orgasm is a bit trickier,” Sylvain began. “It may take some time to arouse a woman enough. They also have the pleasure to achieve multiple in one session if you do it right. And oh, it’s the sounds of a goddess I tell you.”

_You know you’re the first one to actually make me cum so fast?_

Cyril gulped. “Can…can she orgasm fast too?”

Mercedes nodded. “Of course; reactions are unpredictable. However, if they love their partner and really yearn for their touch, they’ll express their joy early on.”

Cyril’s heart swelled, but he tried to quickly press it down. Hilda didn’t love him. It must have been a lucky shot.

Sylvain carried on with more concepts until the moon was at its peak, and Leonie returned to disrupt them to go to bed. All except Mercedes, who was assigned to be on night duty, moved into their tents. Ashe lifted his tent flap, stopped, then called Cyril over before he headed for his wyvern.

“What’s up, Ashe?”

“Did you…did you find a lover in Garreg Mach?”

Cyril froze. Ashe had been by him for a while, so he knew that he was a bachelor the entire time.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Ashe smiled.

“I- uhm… I wouldn’t say lover, but I did spend some time with a girl…,” Cyril rubbed his palms together. They were best friends, and he didn’t want to lie to him, but was it really okay to speak of someone behind their back?

“Was it Hilda?”

“W-what?” Cyril’s eyes widened.

Ashe shrank back and scratched his head. “Sorry for jumping to conclusions. I shouldn’t have made a guess-“

“No…you’re right.” Ashe relaxed at that. “How did you know though? Did someone tell you?”

“Of course not!” Ashe held up his hands. “I overheard you mention earlier that Hilda was at the academy, and since Hilda is single I figured…”

“…figured what?” He tensed.

Ashe furrowed his brows at Cyril’s raised tone. “…I was going to say that you rekindled that crush of yours.”

Disgruntled, Ashe slipped into the tent before Cyril could answer. Mercedes stoked the fire in the background. He stumbled in shock and wandered over to his wyvern. What was Ashe saying? Did he mistake his former interest of Lysithea with Hilda?

Or did he like Hilda longer than he thought?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paths are splitting and Cyril is bonding. These are the Blue Lions I recruited in my first playthrough, where Sylvain, Mercedes and Ashe had a solo endings and Felix and Leonie became mercenaries/circus clowns. Wanted to play around with those epilogues and merge them together into the plot (and yeah, took liberties by putting the Cyril/Ashe ending into this fic too). Had a lot of fun figuring Sylvain's out, because he was supposed to have resolved the crest issue while dealing with Sreng, so what better way for him to game the system than with what he's best at?
> 
> Next chapter is Hilda's turn.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda travels back home

It was not long after the monastery closed its gate behind them that Hilda arrived at the outstanding castle of House Gloucester. The viridian colour framed along the entrance shimmered in different shades when the doors were opened, inviting the guests over a velvet path that footed over the marble floor and led to the sculpture on top of the staircase - the original elite, a robust man that regally widened his arm to both sides, one holding the staff of Thyrsus and the other the Axe of Ukonvasara. Remembering the reanimated version of him in the battlefield, it was surprising how much of his appearance stayed true in this interpretation. It was as if the original Gloucester was encased in stone on this pedestal.

Lorenz was facing away from them, a small figure cast against the mural that embellished the entire hall. Golden laces framed the entire wall frame, encasing a beautiful painting of a saintly figure descending from the sky and bearing her arms and wings with motherly affection over the people.

Lorenz welcomed them and took no time to introduce them to this newest art that his dear friend Ignatz created. Ignatz was hesitant to portray his abilities when he finally attained the role of a knight, but with push and support, he and his wife Maya dedicated an entire year to paint the wall and capture the beauty of the goddess. It was thanks to this fine piece that Ignatz and Maya quickly soared in popularity and hopped from one noble house to another, and his merchant parents were able to see how much better he fared with the newly carved career.

Hilda slipped Lorenz Byleth’s letter while the guests were occupied with praising the mural. Lorenz tucked the letter into his coat, promising to read and respond to it as soon as everyone got to rest. Unfortunately for Hilda, her advisor doused the chance to rest and revealed the news of a possible attack.

“Of course this would happen. I cannot believe that such travesty would spring up so soon though…” Gloucester sighed dramatically. As one of the leading political forces of the former Alliance, he deftly pulled together his scattered territory by taming the defying nobles, and marrying Lysithea extended his motions to an even wider area. Her whispers to his ears echoed into maneuvers that quickly stabilized the unruly regions, allowing the market to flow with less repercussion and reach the towns that were neglected in the past.

Once that was over, however, Lorenz was challenged to peer down south, where the remains of the former Adrestian Empire simmered with residual flames. Too many empirical heads had rolled, both by Edelgard’s purge and by Claude’s conquest, but too few were there to replace them, with sole successors being that of House Bergliez (with a leader of meek stance and a second successor who chose to venture every corner of Fodlan instead) and House Varley (whose leader only awoke during small fragments of the year to protect her own territory). Enbarr, the capital of the former empire, was leaderless, but the empress’ former orator used public addresses to create the illusion of stableness while the politicians scrambled in the background. Byleth hoped that this blank government would open a window to discuss a new ruling system, but negotiations were limited as the surviving nobles were forced to pool their resources together to fend off attacks from Dagda and Brigid, who exploited their weakened state to invade and take revenge for the fallen archipelago princess. The frustration of the Adrestrian people was turning up in volume, and the bordering houses to the north and east were closely watching.

“Sounds like you already saw this coming,” Hilda observed.

Lorenz nodded. “Indeed. I was hoping to be of help, but Bergliez is stubbornly refusing my aid. They somehow spread their food supplies thin every year feeding the army in the west, and they sent back our weapon traders, calling it too soaked in blood to be used for their defense. This is too dire of a situation to stick to false fallacies; he is forgetting that his people are going hungry. I have sent the merchants and Raphael to go directly to the towns, but that in itself is ineffective when the people are strapped thin from the warfare orders. The towns in my territory are all above capacity after accepting the desperate who crossed the river. It’s no wonder that many are raising their weapons and demanding to return to the old fruitful days.”

“That sounds like such a headache ~,” Hilda cringed at the problems that were piling up. At least she now understood why imperial forces were planning to attack; they had offered their time of patience by enduring meager meals and rebounding attacks, but enough was enough. “But you must have it figured out if you predicted this!”

Another dramatic sigh. His long mane flew in waves when he floated over to the statue, gliding a hand over the staff. “If only. I seek a way that is optimal and noble, but in this fleeting chaos it’s hard to steer a clear path. Lady Byleth is stumped as well. And now we hear that Those Who Slither in The Dark have returned. I don’t see how we can come out of this unscathed. If only we could cooperate with Bergliez…”

“Garreg Mach sound like they have it figured out.”

“Oh, that must have been a joke. I was there when Seteth was turned away after our trade talk.”

“Is Caspar not able to persuade his brother?” Hilda asked.

“Nobody knows where he is,” Lorenz answered, flipping his hair back over his shoulder.

“Oh, but he just returned to Fodlan in the last Ethereal Moon. He came to visit me just before I left for my travel, so I’m sure he’s still sparring with my brother.”

“Even so, I don’t see how his words hold weight. Are you sure his older brother would listen to Caspar?”

Hilda pursed her lips. “Lorenz, you haven’t seen him since he left. He’s changed. I promise he’ll straighten up his house in no time.”

That lit his eyes up. Hilda couldn’t help but smile when she lifted some weight off his shoulders.

“My dearest Hilda, if you could do so, would you make a plea to Caspar on my behalf?”

Hilda slumped. She realized that that weight moved over to her. “I suppose it won’t hurt…”

\+ + + 

The route back home was shorter than she remembered, but Hilda welcomed the familiar sight of the mountain range inching out of the horizon. The fortress built atop the tallest peak bore the strength of the Goneril and fanned out with bridges to the neighbouring structures. She could hear the cries of the wyvern nesting on pikes before she recognized Catria, Hilda’s wyvern, swooping down with a trail of three fletching fluttering closely behind. The majestic creature softly landed at the top of the walls just as Hilda’s team reached it with their wooden makeshift lift. Hilda jumped off and scooped the little ones in her arms with squealed delight.

“You should back away Hilda. They just ate so they could poop on you any second.”

Caspar was climbing down from the watchtower and bore a wide grin. Ever since he arrived at Goneril, he had been fascinated with scanning the outer bounds of the world from the highest point, and even after she travelled round and back, Caspar seemed to have found solace in camping at this tower. Hilda ignored his advice and pulled them in closer. “You would never say that if you spent time with these cuties.”

As if on cue, one fledgling gagged and vomited over Hilda’s shoulder, most of it landing on the ground behind her, but slicks of slime and saliva dribbled down her coat. Caspar laughed. “I guess you’re right about that!”

While Hilda tried to put Catria’s babies down, she felt a cloth rubbing against her back. “Caspar, you don’t have to do that! Isn’t it gross?”

Caspar shushed her and continued cleaning off the vomit. “C’mon, unless it’s a new fashion statement it’s best to get it out fast.” He got most off and gave her a quick peck on the head. “There. But I can’t help with the smell of puke.”

Hilda huffed. “I suppose a nice long bath would be nice right now.”

“Must have been a long trip. Why are you back so early though?” Caspar picked up one of the fledglings that were scraping against Hilda’s legs. Hilda wondered if his bare arms weren’t hurt from the rough scales.

“Yeah… I was sent back because we got a situation. I wish it could wait until dinner, but alas…” She was watching the reptile try to nibble his nose, and he flinched back in amusement, his braided rat tails flinging as he dodged the attacks. “…I need to ask you for a favour too.”

“Hmm?” Caspar put him down when Catria cooed them over, and the three returned to the mother to fly back to their nest. “What’s up?”

Hilda folded her hands together and had to crane her neck back to look up at him. He was slightly taller than Cyril. Huh. “I need you to have a word with your brother.”

He raised a brow at that. “And what is it you want me to say?”

“Actually, never mind. This talk will be a while. I’ll wash myself first. I smell pungent.”

“Want me to join you?” He bent down so their faces were closer.

She almost licked her lips, but then gently used a finger to turn his chin away. “I’d appreciate the company, but I haven’t had a moment of privacy in the last few days.”

“Okay,” he nodded and straightened up. “My offer still stands.”

They walked up to the bungalow that was attached to the main house so that she could avoid the crowded welcome in her odourful state. Catching up on the current events with Caspar, it seemed that the last few days at Goneril were quiet.

Caspar had ventured out to the neighbouring country Morfis shortly after their victory against Nemesis to use the means of exploration to also search deep within himself. After the years in the sandy nation of magic, he returned rough skinned and tanned, the emblem of mastering their foreign warmaster class permanently marked on his bicep. Outside of his stark change in appearance, he also picked up subtle gestures from the Morfis people, such as bowing for greetings and placing his hands together whenever the clock struck noon. Not to mention, he’d add in sagely wisdom that gave a whiplash to anyone who was only familiar with his brash and optimistic shouts. And instead of heading back to House Bergliez, he decided to head north to Goneril to challenge the strongest of them all- Holst- but in that encounter Caspar and Hilda had time to connect.

Hilda had spoken little to him in the academic years, with only quick hellos in the classroom. After Byleth reappeared five years later, Hilda was surmounted with works and delegations, but somehow it offered her more time to tend to Caspar’s wounds after his rough fights on the roads. Their shared fascination of a good fight opened up more conversations, but the developing friendship quickly shut down after their battle at Fort Merceus. Byleth had Caspar stay back to defend the monastery in order to avoid the cruelty in bringing a son of the Adrestian Empire to combat familiar faces. Even so, hearing that Linhardt was killed, his body obliterated along with the capital fort by the javelins of light, and his father executed to preserve the lives of many, it was a barrage of numbing news that took a severe toll on him. He had been distant with everyone, only confiding with Raphael and Bernadetta for small talk, and he was never the same. Hilda didn’t hear from him until his return after the war, and she was glad to see he equipped himself with a brave face.

And maybe it was the encounter of two grown adults- forlorn, lonely, and open to explore new grounds- that attracted her to him when he arrived at her door. There was no inundation of feeling behind it; they only needed the touch of a person to quench their hearts. There were no words exchanged about it the day after. No expectations to lock it into a deeper relationship.

But now after her return from Garreg Mach, she realized the deed only left her with brewing guilt.

“So how was it at the monastery? Is the professor doing well?” Caspar asked, clasping the back of his head as they walked into the bungalow.

“Hmm. Yea, still overloaded with work, but she looks like she got it figured out now.”

“Oh yea, I guess that’s good to hear. Holst mentioned that Claude and her married.”

“Yeah, they didn’t do anything grand though; they just made a small announcement to close friends.”

“Uh-huh. So Claude is actually Almyran?” A nod. “I see. He didn’t say a word the entire time, it’s crazy! Did you know?”

Hilda only giggled. They reached the bathhouse and the servants rushed in all directions to help her. Caspar leaned against the wall and eyed her while she took down her coat.

“Is something wrong?” Hilda asked when she noticed his stare.

“You’re not as chatty as usual.” He listened to her silence and turned to leave. “Well, you did say you wanted to tell me after your bath. I’ll be over at the balcony.”

Hilda didn’t realize how she retracted to herself until he pointed it out. From the time he was in Goneril before she left for Garreg Mach, she hovered around and peppered him with stories without a break, and he’d interject here and there with his own. Their discussions were her solace during those days, until one night when it got dragged into her private chamber where they collapsed into passionate hums… Hilda had to sigh at the direction her mind was railing in. It was one night. She had thought the unspoken agreement was understood, but with his eyes saluting her body it made her realize how cruel she’d actually been.

The water was soothing her aching calves, and the servant who scrubbed her back was doing a phenomenal job in massaging her muscles. Her eyes fluttered shut. This was how it should be. Simple. Relaxing.

Could she afford to rest? What if Those Who Slither in The Dark ambushed the monastery this very minute? Was it really alright for her to be at ease while Cyril rushed about to protect the archbishop… Was _he_ alright? Did he sleep? Was he thinking of her? Was he upset?

She had no right to wonder about him after dashing off in that manner. Her favourite maid came by as she got patted dry and offered her a bottle of fragrant oil that was gifted from an old friend. That must have been from Claude; he did mention he wanted to thank her for accepting the Almyran students so late in the year. With a nod they began kneading her skin with it. The scent was mildly floral and hinted of the lush forest. It was the same one that came off of Claude whenever he secretly lit his incense in his bedroom after he snuck away from the ceremony of the saints. She wished he was by her side right now; he could easily straighten out her silly thoughts and pick apart what she wanted. He was openly blunt to her all the time and correctly predicted how long her romantic ventures would last.

Draped in a light dress she drifted over to the balcony. Caspar was gazing at the mountains, the rising moon encircling them both in diamond light. He nodded at her with his generous smile and pulled her in by the waist.

“So what’s been so serious that you came all the way back?” He asked, stroking her lower back. She placed her palms against his chest, keeping a small space between them.

“Caspar... It looks like there will be more fights coming, and the heart of the conflict will most likely be at Gronder Fields. Myrddin may be able to hold off movements at the bridge, but we will need the aid of Bergliez to choke off their escape route. But they don’t seem to be cooperating with either Garreg Mach or anyone of the former Leicester Alliance… Caspar, this may be a very dangerous situation, and all hands need to be on deck. Can you speak with your brother?”

Caspar frowned at that. “Hilda… I’m not sure how you think I can persuade my brother.”

“Your brother hasn’t seen you for so long; don’t you think he’d want to speak with you? You have become wiser, I’m sure once he’s seen you he’ll respect any wishes you have.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Of course.” She nodded eagerly. “You ooze the presence of a leader, you know? He would be awestruck by your advice.”

“Right…” he stared at her carefully. “You’re saying that I waltz in, tell my brother, who never spent a minute with me in our childhood, to be so impressed with my vocabulary that his soldiers would bear arms to fight a war I have no clue about?”

“I suppose when you word it like that, it sounds iffy…” Hilda dropped her head and pulled away.

“Hilda, you know I’m here for you, but you can’t expect me to blindly obey without having the full picture.” His bright eyes suddenly looked tired. The tolls of the past were still ringing in the back of his mind.

“Of course. Yeah, you’re right, you need to get the entire story…” so she told him what was shared in the council room at the monastery, about the threats of Those Who Slither in The Dark and the uprising rebels of the former Adrestian Empire. She explained how Bergliez rejected any aids from the east, and based on Gloucester’s point of view they were pitting themselves against the ocean of death that’d swallow them whole.

His brows furrowed. “How did it get to this point? Hilda, what’s the empire’s army doing?” As the former empire’s Military of Affairs and commander of the former Imperial army, the Bergliez territory should be fortified with manpower. Given the rich resources in that land, it shouldn’t be difficult to maintain those numbers, so the unstable situation alarmed him.

Hilda shrugged. “I don’t really know. We can ask my advisor.”

He nodded. The anger that swam in his eyes quickly washed over. “I don’t know what my brother is thinking, but let me ask around and see what we can find out. But Hilda, you just got back; you need to get your strength back and eat.”

She resisted his tug and freed herself out of his hold. “And Caspar…”

“Yes?”

Hilda stopped. How to start? She fiddled with her hair. “I…I don’t think we should keep up with our relationship.”

The arm around her dropped. “What do you mean?”

This was tougher than she thought it’d be. “Caspar… I… I think I want to head into a serious relationship, and I don’t see it with us. I’m sorry.”

Hilda kept eye contact. She had to at least show him the respect he deserved.

Silence.

_Say something._

Caspar stared at her, his mouth slightly parted. He clammed shut, ruffled his hair, and sighed. “I should have seen it coming. I guess you don’t want anything more from me?”

Hilda shook her head.

“No hookup?”

Hilda nodded.

“…And you don’t see this going anywhere.” He tried to fight back the tremble in his voice.

Hilda thinned her lips. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and meditated for a minute. Without looking at her he turned and headed for the door.

“I was planning to stay for two more days to get some sparring sessions going, but I might cut it short and head home. I’ll just give my rounds of goodbyes and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Caspar…”

“See ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making a failed Hilda/Caspar relationship here. It just felt weird to me that there is such a large attractive cast and apparently none of them intermingled before settling down, and those two are one of the 'hotter' ones who are single so I figured they'd at least get down to it when they're not at a full support (I only got up to Support B before I cleared the game, and yes, the Support A convo is one of the other reasons I put this in). 
> 
> I designed Lorenz to match with his wife, but looking at it now he doesn't look too different...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where a funeral is held.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Felix grunted.

The smoke coming from Gronder Field was visible from the Airmid River. The former Blue Lions sped through the mountains and finally reached the Great Bridge of Myrddin, which had become a major market point between the former regions, but when Cyril returned from his flight and confirmed that the fields were set ablaze, the group rushed to the highest tower to witness it with their own eyes.

“Dimitri’s grave was on top of that hill…” Ashe gasped. Mercedes clasped her hands together for a prayer, her voice quivering in shock.

“You think the professor started that?” Leonie came up to join them, a hand on Felix’s shoulder.

“Beats me,” Felix scrunched his nose. “Probably did it to expose the rats out of their holes.”

Sylvain kept his expression neutral, but his eyes burned with anger.

The wildfire bled into the sky with ember tendrils, and the swirls of the smoke it breathed out choked the colour out the field. The childhood memories of the grating screams and the smell of burnt flesh resurfaced, filling in the details that Cyril was trying to suppress as he watched the grounds blacken to crisp. He had to remind himself that it was just a field of crops, not an Almyran village that was in the centerfold of two opposing armies.

“If this is Her Holiness’ decision, we’ll make sure that her plans unfold without a hitch,” Rodrigue muttered. It was clear why Felix sheared off his head when he was standing next to the elder man with long locks. Their resemblance was almost uncanny. Felix scoffed at his father’s conclusion and left the tower.

“What do you want us to do?” Leonie asked the lords.

“It’s best that we meet up with Lady Byleth as soon as possible,” Sylvain began. “My guess is that she’s trying to push the rebels towards the bridge using the fire. But look at what’s happening here.” He nodded at the barren land behind them. “Whoever was meant to be stationed here and intercept them never arrived. My guess is the Alliance members didn’t catch up.”

“Why would they set the crops on fire if the reinforcements are not in yet?” Mercedes asked.

“They are rushing for some reason…” Ashe thought aloud.

Cyril and Myrtle bobbed midair. The smoke was thinning out as the last of the flames died off.

They waited and stared.

Nobody came.

Ashe nodded towards Cyril, who on cue kicked the sides of his wyvern and flew closer to the grave. The grounds were barren with some glowing cinder here and there, but there were no people. Cyril turned and spotted Seteth and the knights standing at the same spot where Lady Rhea was when she announced the mock battle in the past. Cyril approached them swiftly and asked of the situation.

Seteth nodded towards the field, not bothering to question why Cyril left his post at Oghma. “We have captured a few empire loyalists who were collecting in the fields, but Those Who Slither in The Dark were never here. Did you come from the bridge?” Cyril nodded. “Give me a status report.”

He summarized that several lords from Faerghus are stationed at the fort and that no fugitives were spotted. Seteth did not seem surprised and nodded absentmindedly.

“Let us regroup and meet with the lords at the bridge. We can reassess the situation there,” Seteth announced and climbed on his wyvern. The battalions lined up and marched around the scorched field and followed the lead of Seteth and Cyril in the air.

Upon arrival Cyril was called over to the other knights to help set camp, but the conversation between the lords and Seteth rose to barks that even he could hear them from afar.

“So let me get this straight, Seteth: The Professor had to attend another emergency, your allies were not ready to flank any escapers and you still figured to burn the entire field down?! What kind of brilliant plan is this?!” Sylvain shouted.

Seteth crossed his arms. “This is part of our step to regain control to an underlying problem and it has sent a clear message to the conspirators that we are ready for them. Rest assured, we will gather intelligence from the prisoners we _have_ captured and prevent further attacks.”

“I know it worked out because we just happened to be at the end of the planned flank where your allies should have been, but that was utterly reckless,” Ashe added. “And how would this stop Those Who Slither in The Dark? We never received a message of this plan, and we would have been in the cross field if Cyril hadn’t warned us that we were being targeted.”

The heavy rebuttals led nowhere as the lords kept circling around the same idea, that they did not want the Knights of Seiros to keep them in the dark when it was clear that something was afoot. Seteth eventually broke off the unpleasant reunion and changed to another topic, divulging into quieter words with Sylvain along with Felix and Mercedes.

The weight of exhaustion eventually got to Cyril after he finished replenishing the saddlebags with fresh goods from the market. He plunged behind the barrels where he could quietly nibble on the bread that was handed out. He felt a tug at his ponytail and saw Mercedes with a calm smile. Looking aside, Seteth was occupied with Sylvain again.

“That was quite the fire, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Cyril tried not to think of it. Mercedes sat down behind him and loosened his hair band. It was like the days in the academy, when she tended to him until he fell asleep.

“You know Cyril…My brother used to grow his hair out too.”

Cyril didn’t utter a word and let her slide her fingers through his hair. Her hands were trembling. _The fire._ She mentioned how she and her mother fled from House Bartel under the mask of a house fire, leaving her brother behind with his cries of despair echoing from the flames.

He closed his eyes at the first sounds of her whimper. He let her weep for solace without uttering a word.

\+ + + 

Seteth ordered them to head toward House Gloucester under the name of the archbishop while the Knights of Seiros would return to the monastery to deliver the conspiring loyalists they captured. The knights quickly ascended into the air with their flying steed and headed toward the mountains, trickling into the clouds and emptying out the bridge. Cyril sighed with relief when he wasn’t plucked away. It didn’t matter whether they purposely left him or forgot him in the swarm, but he wanted to stick to Ashe’s side when he attended to Dimitri’s grave.

Not a minute later Rodrigue announced that camp was to be broken down and they tore through the gate to enter the Gronder Fields.

The rolling hills were charred. The group imprinted a path on the ashen cover as they trailed toward the last standing blue flag on top of the highest mound. Multiple lances spiked into a center that pierced into the heart of the earth, the lingering smoke swirling near the ground as if worshipping the anger that the fallen king emanated. The eerie presence meshed into the air, the wailing moans of emptiness deterring any curious ones to come closer.

“Unbelievable. It’s been so many years and this place is still standing tall. Even the fire couldn’t take him down,” Sylvain said solemnly, kneeling down in front of the mound.

“Oh Dimitri, the earth and air around you is still crying with pain,” Mercedes whined. She pulled out a few candles and lit them with magic, and Rodrigue, Ashe and a few other nobles placed them in front of the grave. Sylvain took a candle, and together with Felix, he wandered further down toward the creek. After Ashe finished his prayers, he followed suit with Cyril closely by his side. The red headed lord and the mercenary were idling under a tree, marked by a charred blue ribbon weakly fluttering in the wind.

“She was an idiot,” Cyril overheard Felix say as he answered something of Sylvain’s. “She stayed by Dimitri for this knightly code of honour, and look what it got her. It was nothing but a pointless death, just like Glenn.”

“In a way it shows how well-woven their tragic romance was that they’d die in the same manner. Either way, I could tell that Ingrid died without regrets,” Sylvain replied. “And what more can one ask for in this frantic world?”

Felix was silent. Ashe knelt and prayed for Ingrid, the Pegasus Knight. Cyril scanned the surroundings and saw rusted weapons speckled across the creek bench like a feeble wall. Laid out along a line, it was impossible to distinguish the parties they have fallen for.

“It was best that her bloodline ended with her,” Sylvain began. He gave a pained smile. “With her father passed away, it means that her Crest would not tangle another young one’s fate with a vile future.”

“But wouldn’t it mean that anyone who uses Lúin would be at harm?” Felix raised a brow at that. “Where is that weapon anyway?”

“Dedue has it,” Cyril answered. Hilda was the last to see Dimitri’s death, but soon after she spotted Dedue fight off all at the vicinity, dragging Areadbhar and Lúin over his shoulder as he escaped.

“After we fought the Edelgard, Dedue had temporary protection in my castle,” Ashe added. “He said it was best that their memories were not tarnished by misusing the weapons, so he went into hiding to guard them.”

“I guess that answers that,” Sylvain shrugged. “Though I wish there was a way to destroy them. I haven’t repaired the Lance of Ruin since the war, but it’s still sturdy as ever.”

Felix turned back to the mound. “It’s best not to advertise that you want to destroy something considered as the embodiment of the goddess’ children-,” he turned toward Sylvain and hissed. “ _Lord Gautier.”_

Sylvain chuckled at Felix’s precautionary measure, but Cyril wasn’t as amused. It was a chilling knowledge that the altercating power of the Ten Elites consisted of weapons spun together with the bodies of Lady Rhea’s family. When Claude shared the true knowledge with the close knit members of the Golden Deer House, it became an unspoken agreement that the weapons would never be wielded. They were kept in secrecy until they’d unlock a path that could absolve them of this responsibility. 

While they all walked back to the funeral ceremony, he remembered how Hilda eyed her Freikugel during that reveal, the crown of the axe pulsating as she held it against her palm. She smiled wistfully as usual when Claude proceeded with his spiel, but her eyes shimmered with the determination of a protector.

The time everyone spent together after the victory against Nemesis was short, but was filled with many smaller skirmishes, so Hilda needed a new set of axes to avoid the need of Freikugel. She would frequently join Cyril to visit the blacksmith because of that (and also to make an excuse to frolic in the market). He looked forward to those occasions and would wait at the gates for her to catch up. Once he was offered to try and sharpen a blade himself, so when he did, Hilda sat tightly next to him to watch him scrape the metal against the whetstone. Maybe it was her admiration of his handiwork that he enjoyed, but he continued to volunteer so long as Hilda was there.

Cyril widened his eyes and shot a glance at Ashe, who was listening to Rodrigues’ eulogy by Dimitri’s grave. Maybe Ashe was right and Cyril had been watching Hilda for a while after all. He needed to ask him and find out what exactly Ashe observed in the younger days that gave him that conclusion.

He gripped his belt while guarding the vicinity. Along with Cyril, Felix and Leonie were at an evenly fixed distance from each other to cover a good scope of the area. Felix’ brown eyes were solemnly staring away from the grave, but his softened expression showed the loss he felt. The other mercenaries scoured back and forth, ignoring the horses that were growing restless from being tied too long. The golden glow of the sun masked the bridge with a shadow as it slowly drifted towards the horizon, the glimmers of the water pointed out the first stars that popped against the sky, the earth had cooled and released the final smoke wisp into the night, yet the lords still took turns conjuring their monologues, taking up songs of sorrow and reiterating the Seiros script to commemorate the holiness of the last king’s reign.

Cyril gritted his teeth. He was surprised he stood still for so long, let alone Felix, who began seething at the ridiculousness of this ceremony. Leonie kept rolling her shoulders, trying to persuade herself that the reward was worth it. Even the feet of many of the lords were facing away in wait to finally get a move on.

Finally, the eldest closed off the memorial when the moon was lit with the howling of a wolf. The smell of cooked food pulled everyone quickly to the tents that the servants had set up. The hunger overcame them all and convinced them to devour their plates before any chatter began. Mercedes, the lovely sister that she was, came out with baskets of bread and cheese and handed them out to the ones guarding the area. After feeding Myrtle, Cyril walked over to the tent and lifted the flap to take a quick look inside; Ashe was listening in on a debate and refilled his cup with wine. Cyril would have to wait until everyone cleared out before he could talk to him.

Defeated, he turned towards the weapon rack to condition them, but a tug and fierce persuasion by Mercedes left him to accept a piece of bread instead, and he sat in front of the entrance with Leonie and Felix. The political racket within the tent was easily heard outside, but the content of their conversation didn’t perk anyone’s interest, so the three former classmates occupied themselves with an arm wrestling tournament. They were sore from idling for hours, but after some warm-up rounds the matches tensed with their unpredictable outcomes. Coins were tossed as bets began to work their way around, and the trembling muscles and bullets of sweats trickling down their temples made the stakes build up to the point where bellows of disappointments and cheers unleashed whenever a victor came forth. At the end, Cyril tallied the most wins, but he had to admit that if it wasn’t just a test of muscle he’d have lost out against the two. Cyril felt a few claps against his back and shyly acknowledged the support.

The cacophony died down once the first lord walked out. Leonie got up and followed the elders, and Felix made sure to stay close to Sylvain, who gave the Almyran knight a sympathetic smile as he tilted his head toward the tent. Cyril hesitated, but then checked inside.

Ashe was the only one there, staring at his cup, his face matching the colour of the wine.

“Ashe – I mean Lord Gaspard. Ya gotta stop drinking,” Cyril frowned.

“Cyril,” Ashe looked up, his eyes glazed. His moustache was soaked. He drunkenly waved him over. “Sit down, my friend. Sit down.”

Cyril sat down on the bench next to Ashe and pulled the cup away from his grasp. Ashe whined, but weakly dropped his head instead. His eyes were puffed.

“Y’know it’s best to go to sleep,” Cyril said. Ashe nodded.

“I always wanted to be like Dimitri,” Ashe murmured. His words were slurred, and it took all of Cyril’s effort to figure out what he was saying. “He was so dignified, and he was everything that a knight should be – strong, gallant, and kind. Cyril, he was so kind!”

Cyril thinned his lips. He wasn’t very familiar with the prince during the times at the monastery, but Ashe used to talk about him a lot. When they reunited after the five year separation and Dimitri was declared to have been executed during a coup d’état, Ashe was telling stories about the prince’s good deeds in hopes to keep him fresh in everyone’s minds. But the monstrous size of a man that festered into Gronder Field - blood-soaked fur draped over his shoulders, dragging the title of king with contempt- was nothing as the one the youngling described. Ashe had stood there in confusion and shock, and just as he processed the revelation that it was Dimitri who came back from the dead, the soldiers dressed in crimson speared him down like a beast. While this was no different than any other kill Cyril had faced in his time on the battleground, the wails from his classmates culminated the scene and captured even him.

Ashe balled his fist. The tears welled up. “Everyone tells me that I couldn’t have saved him. But it doesn’t help that I can’t accept this horrible fate. Why would a good man like him have to go through all that?”

The last word was mixed with a gurgling sound and Cyril shot over to pull his hair back. Ashe heaved and let the content spill onto the ground, the backsplash flecking their boots and pants. Cyril rubbed his back and softly encouraged him to let it out. Tears began flowing along with the dribbles of saliva and vomit.

“I’m so sorry Cyril,” Ashe mumbled. A second wave came through. “I’m such an embarrassment. I’m nothing like any of the knights, I fail as a lord, and I can’t even hold my liquor!”

“Easy now, you’re drunk, not a failure,” Cyril consoled him.

“You’re only saying that because you’re my friend,” Ashe sniffled.

“And I’ll let ya know there’s no one better.” Cyril wiped his face with his sleeve. “And how many times do I have to remind ya that as someone who lived in a place where no one gave a shit about us civilians, I can say for sure that you’re a great ruler? Stop complaining. You ain’t Dimitri. You ain’t anyone else. _You_ were the one who fixed up Gaspard, kept those stubborn nobles in their place and made sure the people were fed.”

The hazel eyes cleared up and focused on his friend. He hiccupped. “But I still don’t have a wife.”

“That’s on you, idiot.” Cyril knocked his forehead with a knuckle. “You still didn’t visit Marianne like ya said you would, and it’s been five years now.”

Ashe wiped his nose. “What if she found someone already? She’s become such a wonderful orator, she must have received many proposals.”

“Yet yours isn’t in that pile,” Cyril frowned. “Listen, ya won’t know until you talk to her. Good thing we’re near Leicester, we can meet with her. But please be sober- your drunk face would only chase her out of the country.”

Ashe cried and threw meek insults at him. With a grin Cyril finally persuaded him to go to bed, and he gingerly led him through the dark with an arm to support his weight.

Ashe held onto Cyril’s shoulder as he stumbled over a non-existent rock. “So what about you, Cyril? You looking for a wife?”

Cyril sighed. “I told ya I ain’t planning to have a family anytime soon.”

“But you don’t love anyone?”

Cyril didn’t answer.

“Sorry I brought up Hilda last night. I didn’t know it’d upset you.”

Ashe began sliding off and Cyril had to lift him back up. “No, no, don’t worry about it. I wanna talk about that actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“….And?”

Cyril grunted with frustration. He couldn’t tell the tents apart in the dark and it took a while to spot the Gaspard flag.

“How’d ya figure I’d have a crush on Hilda?” From what he recalled he never confessed anything, not that he was interested in her back then.

Ashe chuckled. “It was a wild guess, honestly. You always spent time with her. So much so that I was honestly jealous.”

“Huh. But we all sparred with certain people more than with others.”

“Yeah, but you two were in _sync_. It’s hard to describe it unless you actually saw it. Did you not notice how the professor stopped giving you instructions for the battlefield?”

Cyril’s eyes widened. He did notice. He prided himself in thinking that it was because he was acknowledged for his skills, but in hindsight it was clear that he also drifted towards Hilda’s side to cover her back.

“But I always kept complaining about her.”

“And you praised her too.” They finally located his tent and a servant led him in. Ashe dropped onto the bed and almost dozed off, but remembered that he was halfway in a conversation. “Remember when I noticed Marianne’s new necklace and said how beautiful it looked on her? You had to point out that Hilda made it. You were so proud of her.”

Ashe giggled and fell asleep. Cyril walked back out and over to his wyvern to lie down. No, none of it really mattered at the end of the day. He had to remind himself that she rejected him.

He sighed. 

How could he forget those lips though?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I don't even know if anyone is actually reading these, but I just found out it's Cyril week? As a contribution I'll update daily until Sunday! Happy Cyril week!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda's back home.

You’d think by Holst’s hysterical hug that made Hilda wheeze that she had been missing for years, but Holst was justified in the panic – news of merchants getting attacked multiplied by the day, and the trail that her caravan line followed was in the middle of a violent turf war for thieves last night. If they hadn’t decided to use the moonlight as a guide to steer forward, they’d have lost more than a few rotten fruits.

He patted her head and smirked, but it was hard to read when his untamed fuchsia beard swathed over most of his face. He began to look more like a wild bear than man.

“Where’s Mom and Dad? I got them souvenirs from the school,” Hilda swatted off his hand.

“They got called down the mountains for more meetings,” Holst ignored her hand and started ruffling her hair. “But what is the matter with you? You come here and the first thing you do is scare Caspar out of this place!”

“What are you saying?” She smirked guiltily. “He just felt that I out-travelled him and recaptured his wanderlust. It seems you kept him pinned in here for too long.”

“Well, you can’t keep such men standing still,” Holst pinched her cheeks and finally let her go. “Too bad he didn’t find this place too endearing. Maybe he’ll send us letters and tell us about the places he visits.”

“Oh- speaking of which – “ Hilda quickly changed the topic and pulled out the parchment from her pouch, “I have a _secret_ letter from the archbishop.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Holst hollered. “Oh, my affair has been exposed!” He noticed the seal and his brows furrowed. “So what is this?”

Hilda shrugged and spun toward the hall. “Beats me. Is Auntie in the guesthouse?”

Holst was already slicing the letter open and dismissed her with a nod, so she left to take in some chocolate truffles before she sought her aunt. The bridge laid between the houses was a bitter stone path that the mountains brushed with a layer of mist, the only colour popping out being that of the pink lady as she bounced along with a basket in hand. Hilda swung open the gates and announced her entry, only to stumble over a kid hunched over the ground.

“Are you okay?!” Hilda regained her balance and spun around to the girl, who stared back with panicked amber eyes before she scurried away.

Hilda froze. She was an Almyran.

“What was that noise? Oh, Hilda!” Aunt Giselle scurried over in her heavy dress, carrying a potted plant in her arms like an infant. “I haven’t seen you in ages! How are you? Are you here to help me with the garden?”

Hilda brushed the folds of her coat. “I just came by to say hi. Why are you gardening now? Isn’t your vacation almost done?”

She scoffed and waved that off. “I have a few more days until I’m back in Deirdru, I might as well knock down another little project of mine. Would you like to see?”

With a shrug Hilda followed her out onto the stairway that hugged the mountain. The tedious climb ended at a plateau that opened up to a flat field of stone. Sections were partitioned off and were grated through with gravel and sand, a single sapling centered in each box wheezing with dryness. Hilda was slightly confused by the purpose and décor, especially when the plants were suffocating with no proper soil.

“I call it the Strength of The Feeble,” Aunt Giselle puckered her lips with pride. “The mountains felt so drab after coming back from the capital, so I thought I’d share some of the beauty by creating a garden. Doesn’t it look beautiful?”

Hilda placed a hand on her cheek. “Well I can definitely see what colour scheme you are going for, but it looks like it’d be quite challenging to maintain the plants.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” her aunt waved off the concern with her free arm. She nudged her other arm to point out the plant she was holding. “I have made sure that the merchants coming through will import saplings in each visit, so we will replant them as needed.”

 _Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of being called the ‘Strength of the Feeble’?_ Hilda was internally shaking her head. Claude’s wily attitude was brushing off on her.

Hilda instead chose to sound impressed. “That’s a wonderful idea! So this project is about how strong the feeble merchants are! You are such a smart lady, Aunt Giselle! I am sure the message will come across once the garden is visible to the public!”

Aunt Giselle quieted down. “Well, it is still in its early stage. The saplings are meant to be considered the feeble who can persevere through all hardships.” An idea must have lit up in her head, because her mouth looped into an ‘o’ shape. “I will have some of my servants tend to the saplings to make sure they have better longevity!”

Hilda didn’t like the direction of this. “Oh, with your duties and important role they must _all_ be very busy.”

“Well of course I’ll have some of the newer ones worry about it. The Almyran child had been lazing about, so this would make sure to teach her proper responsibility.”

Hilda faintly nodded while thinking of the panicked eyes she passed by. She remembered the story Cyril told her when she was drafted to protect the border in her brother’s stead. For all the guilt she felt when he revealed the slavery that underwent in her house, she never took action to reverse that. With the school occupying her she was never home, and the plan to undo her family’s deeds had slowly drifted further down in her priority list…

She was making excuses. She couldn’t do that to the child.

“I suggest that you hire a gardener for this, Aunt Giselle. After all, it seems that this is a challenging condition for the plants, so it’d be best if a professional takes a look at it.”

“You make a fair point. I did hear that Bredemeyer has retired, he may be curious about this project.”

“Oh, there we have something to work with! You should talk to him before you head out!”

“Absolutely. Thank you for the idea, Hilda.”

“Anything for my favourite aunt! Oh, by the way,” Hilda spun around before her aunt was out of the door. “I want to redecorate my room and need a few extra hands. May I borrow the new servants?”

“Of course, of course. You can keep them too! I don’t understand why my husband brought them over to begin with, they are so daft, but you can surely teach them a few useful things.” With a ‘ta-tah!’ the lady disappeared, and Hilda plucked a truffle off the platter, chewing it bitterly as she thought of her uncle before turning over to the kitchen. The child was wiping the plates with a cloth, picking out the leftover peas and popping them into her mouth before she noticed Hilda. Panicked, she spat the peas back out onto the plate.

“Hi there. Are you hungry?” Hilda asked while wiping the cocoa off her own fingers. The girl widened her eyes but didn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t understand Fodlanese.

“Do you want chocolate?” Hilda knelt down in front of her and offered some truffles. The eyes darted back and forth between her pale face and the brown spheres in her palms. Her small fingers were trembling as they gripped against the plate. Hilda took one of the truffles and lifted it to her mouth. The girl understood and hesitantly reached for one, and when Hilda smiled encouragingly, she quickly popped it into her mouth. This time her eyes grew wide with surprise, and she chewed and chewed, her brows shooting up with delight.

“What’s your name?” Hilda asked as she offered her another one.

The girl put her plate down and ate another chocolate. “Lehla.”

And so Hilda cooed Lehla out of the house. She asked the guard if there were any other Almyran servants around, but they said that they were dismissed after Claude’s crowning (they feared that they’d be inspired by Claude’s intrusion into the Riegan family and try to ‘snake their way into royalty’). Apparently Lehla was taken in after she was found wandering the market long after the travelling merchants left, likely forgotten or abandoned. 

Back in the haven of her room, the servants were quickly instructed that Lehla was to be treated like a guest, so they carried her by her little limbs over to the bath. Lehla wailed in panic until she dipped her feet into the foaming water, and eventually turned to laughter when the ladies used the bubbles to play with her. The musical sound was infectious and Hilda couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear while brushing her hair. 

But Silque, her advisor, barged in just in time to remind her that there was no such thing as a break for her.

“Goddess, what is it now?!” Hilda snapped. She immediately apologized when she saw her advisor’s ghastly face, but she was too distracted with another matter.

“Hilda, the conference hall has been taken hostage!”

“What do you mean?” Hilda stood up. The conference hall was the large structure where meetings were held by the power holders of the eastern houses. “Are my parents okay?”

“We don’t know. As of right now the building has been taken over by a group dressed in black, and they demand to speak with you. The first respondents say that no one has left the building, and anyone who entered after got warped back out.”

 _Those Who Slither in The Dark._ The pressure under Hilda’s hands almost broke the table. “Update my brother. I’ll be heading down. I have a feeling I know what this is about.”

The instinctive procedure to equip her armor kicked in even after all these years had passed, and after short-winded minutes she picked up her brave axe she always kept in her closet, ignoring the pleadings from her advisor to stay back. So Those Who Slither in The Dark weren’t going for Gronder Field after all. And if they had taken her parents hostage, then her family name was of value to them.

Hilda strutted down to Catria’s roost, and with a whistle and a quick climb, Hilda was flying with her wyvern down the mountain wall and toward the ivory structure that protruded from the foot of the valley. With wings tucked in, the unfurling speed sliced the wind and Catria shot skull-first into the roof. The stones ruptured and caved as the two plummeted straight into the center of the grist.

Even past the cloud of dust that was whipped up by the turmoil, the blaze of Hilda’s fury couldn’t be hidden.

“Bring my parents out this minute!” Her voice boomed through the four corners of the hall. 

Irritating chuckles echoed back. Hilda gritted her teeth. She had to keep calm. She kept count of the voices she pinpointed around her - there were four, maybe five of them. She flared her nostrils. How were such few members able to overwhelm the guards?

“My, and here we heard that the daughter was one who wouldn’t lift a finger for her brethren. Are you sure she is your child?”

There was a pained grunt. “Papa!” Hilda shouted aghast. The shrouded silhouettes were taking shape, and she could spot the shape of the crimson coat of her father and his rose wife beside him.

“I am fine, dear. They think that poking me with a tooth pick would intimidate me,” the hoarse voice croaked.

“Oh, no need to play coy now,” the shadowed figure snickered behind her father. “We all know why we are here, and now that the lady herself has shown herself, it would be great if we talk negotiations, no?”

With a growl in the back of her throat, Catria beat her wings to clear the clouds and revealed five figures surrounding them, with two warding her parents… and they were all dressed like Goneril guards, with blood dripping off their coats and swords. They left blood trails across the floor that all collected into one large pool at the door, where the cotton and silk robed around limp bodies piled into an unrecognizable mass.

Hilda snarled. “You are disgusting.”

“What? This? This should be the least of your problems,” one impersonator began in a raspy voice. “Now, before your mother gets poked as well, why don’t you tell us where the Relic is?”

“Why would it be of use to you?” The elder lady Goneril glared. “If you use it, you’ll be turned into a beast.”

“That is not of your concern.” The guard grabbed her throat and pinned her onto the table. “So tell me, dear, where is the Freikugel?”

Hilda wet her lips. Her parents were not in best shape and wouldn’t be able to fight their way out. She had to lure these false people away.

“I can point you to the location and you can look for it.”

“Don’t be snarky-“ the father was thrown down next to his wife. “Tell me where it is!”

“Look, I wish I can just explain it, but there is a reason why you’re having a hard time finding it. The Hero’s Relic has been well hidden and only I know of its location. There’s no way you can find it alone.”

“So you’re telling me this whole spiel was worthless?!” The one behind Hilda shouted. “Just execute them all!”

Hilda swung her axe to the ground to get everyone’s attention. “Stop! I’ll tell you what you want!”

The blade stopped at the father’s throat. “And what makes us believe you’re not fooling us?”

Hilda loosened her grip on the handle. “I will come with you. Isn’t a cute hostage like me a better trade-off?”

“Hilda! No!” Her mother paled.

The cheshire grins of the false guards showed they were persuaded. Hilda passed a reassuring smiled over to her parents as they crossed to opposite ends. Catria bared her teeth as the enemies approached her partner, but with a shush from Hilda she stepped back, carefully eyeing their movement as they circled around Hilda. Hilda offered no resistance when her wrists were cuffed. With a final look at her parents to make sure they were under the hood of Catria’s wings, she and the members warped off one by one.

It was time to see how far her wits would take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I kept mentioning Hilda's advisor before but I finally decided to give her a name! For some reason I imagined her to look like a naggy version of Silque (from FE Echoes). 
> 
> And the plot thickens! Dun dun dunnnn


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where lords gather at Gloucester

Cyril stifled a yawn. The colour glared from the walls all around, and while he only saw them as indulgent splashes they enthused Ashe enough to spin on the spot to take it all in. The mural in the center of Gloucester’s castle was praised for its enchantment, but the saintly faces staring back only beguiled Cyril about the time they wasted standing around and listening to Lorenz’s trawls of current events.

The lordly man was mellow when he finally guided the troupe over to the guest room. His eyes rested on Cyril when Rodrigue spoke about how the Gallatea dissolved their territory and returned to join Daphnel. The gentle look was enough to acknowledge Cyril’s existence and he gave him a nod in return.

Cyril felt indifferent about Lorenz; they kept their spaces separate and were happy to continue so, but their relationship with Lysithea unwillingly pulled them together. As the husband of his closest friend, Cyril was bound to interact with him, especially during the events leading up to the wedding ceremony. Lysithea made a spectacle about wanting Cyril to be the best man, especially after Claude’s disappearance, and all of Lorenz’ counter arguments fell on deaf ears. Having no familiarity with Fodlanese ceremonial practices, let alone that of nobles, Cyril had to cave and ask Lorenz for his aide. Lorenz wanted to perfect his wedding, so he reluctantly prepared him with lessons that led to awkward etiquettes at the dining hall and scrutinizing his posture throughout the day. It was enough for Cyril to crumble in embarrassment when Dorothea giggled over his ignorance about the common dances, but it was the gaudy suit that made him regret agreeing to the role. With a reminder that it was all for Lysithea’s happiness, the two men gritted their teeth and tolerated each other through those graceless times. It all paid off when her beautiful smile carried her down the aisle with her parents by her side. All that was in the past however, and they were content with their original disposition.

The political conversations kept on and on, and seeing how most everyone was occupied in their own kerfuffle, Cyril took the moment to tread over to his best friend who had been dazed ever since his drunk outburst a few days ago.

“Ashe, if you ain’t gonna act like you’re interested, at least have the nerve to excuse yourself out of this meeting.”

“What? Oh, where did the rest of them go?” Ashe whipped his head around like a bewildered hare.

Leonie snorted by his side and tugged him by the shoulder. “Ashe, how about we take you out for a hunt? The cool wind should wake you up.”

Felix scowled from the door he guarded. “You’re not excused from dawdling around.”

“Oh, come ooon, Felix,” Leonie groaned. “He has to exercise those limbs! All that walking and talking will stifle his dexterity!”

“I’m not talking about him, Leonie,” Felix crossed his arms.

“Oh?” Leonie raised a brow. She sauntered over and clutched the sword that hung on his waist. Whatever she whispered as she leaned to his ears set his face aflame, and she used the moment to pull Ashe and Cyril out of the castle.

Cyril was not much for horses, but his period in Faerghus pushed him to frequently enough rides that he was able to slip onto a steed with minimal effort. The mercenary’s horses were grateful to escape the cramped stables, and the three rode out into the nearby forest with bows and filled quivers.

They didn’t delve far before the game became plentiful and the baskets began to weigh the horses down, to a point that they were forced to stop at a clearing to lighten their load. Ashe dropped his quiver next to the bushels to count his remaining arrows, but the shining dew that coated the leaflets was apparently more appealing to his dulled mood. The other two watched him carefully while they counted and sorted their game, discarding the meager ones aside for scavengers in the bushes. Ashe was so entranced that he rested his fingers on the tip of the arrows, the sharp ends piercing into the skin. Cyril sighed when he saw the blood drawing out and confiscated the entire set.

“What’s the matter Ashe?” Cyril asked. Ashe had been so focused when they were chasing the rabbits that he believed that Ashe recovered, but alas, once they were unoccupied his mind wandered off.

Ashe tilted his head. “This forest feels so serene… doesn’t it remind you of Marianne in a way?”

Leonie looked up from her stack of game in surprise. Cyril gave her a cautious look before he replied. “I suppose so. She’d like taking a walk here, huh?”

“Oh, that’s a nice idea,” Ashe smiled, then sighed. He was back to gazing. Leonie mouthed a question to Cyril, but he shrugged in confusion.

Defeated, Leonie decided to just ask Ashe directly. “You know, I hear that Marianne will arrive today for an assembly. If you sit by you can take her out for a walk.”

He perked up by that and began stuttering about how he should approach her. Cyril and Leonie grinned at how hopeless he was and filed through the last set of game. 

“Hey Leonie, what happened to this one?” Cyril passed the rabbit over to her for a look. She turned it over after feeling the uneven bulge in its belly and saw a purplish tone under the furline. Perplexed, she used her dagger to skin off the portion and blood oozed off in a thick dark hue.

“This looks weird. Can’t say if it was from any food they’ve eaten – at least I can’t think of any that could cause this discolouration,” she concluded. She wrapped it in a different cloth and attached it to the rim of the saddle and made the suggestion to investigate it further back at the castle in case it was a disease.

“Are you suggesting that it’s a magic that causes a disease?” Ashe asked, eyeing the cloth nervously. The horses pulled themselves up and lined up for the thicket. “That seems ominous to me, Leonie. Is it a good idea to take that with us?”

“Well, we got to know what to look out for in case it’s dangerous, so we have to study it. We had these precautions in my village too when we had foul plants or rabid animals.”

Ashe sniffed and continued staring at it while they trotted back.

The golden radiance casted through the spaces of the trees did little to undermine the worry. The nervousness Ashe cast off was contagious, and even Cyril, who was unperturbed by superstitions began wondering if they should toss the baggage aside.

“Guys, seriously, it won’t be an issue,” Leonie groaned and turned her head towards them. “Let me ask you this – if we leave it here it and an animal feeds on it, it could spread the disease, and who knows if it can be contained. Do you think that’d be safer?”

The boys drew silent. They had to change the subject so that they wouldn’t focus on the ominous.

Leonie coughed. “Hey Cyril, you have any stories to tell?”

He raised a brow. “Like what?”

She shrugged. “A tale. An event. Gossip. Anything.”

Ashe perked up. “Cyril! Tell me about Hilda!”

This time Leonie raised her brow, which shot up to her hairline when she observed Cyril cringe. Cyril wanted to move on from this topic, but seeing Ashe’s shine again, he figured he shouldn’t drop it for his own discomfort.

“Well, nothing much really happened, really. It was more of a fling, I guess. “

“You had a fling with Hilda?!” Leonie reigned back so she could match their speed. “Okay, I need to hear how she even wrapped _you_ into her fingers.”

“What does that mean?” Ashe frowned.

“I’m not saying anything against either one of them,” Leonie waved her hands in defense, “it’s just that Cyril never caved to her charms during the war, which is impressive considering every classmate who ran errands for her expected some, uhh, _reward_ from her.”

“She wasn’t like that,” Cyril glared at her. “The guys ask her out after helping her and she’d go out on a date, but it just ends after an afternoon tea. I mean, maybe with the one or two she had a more serious relationship with, but most of them got a hug at most.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Ashe chimed in. “She had been insightful enough that none of Sylvain’s moves worked on her. I guess rumours just built up because all the male students helped her out.”

“True, true.” Leonie nodded and stared at Cyril. “I didn’t know she let you in on her dating life though.”

 _Ugh._ Cyril realized he cornered himself by blabbing his mouth. “Hilda told me all these things while I cleaned the stalls or tended to the wyverns. Out of boredom, really. She told these things to her brother and Claude too, it ain’t a big deal.”

“But she hung out with you often. She wouldn’t have if she didn’t consider you a good friend,” Ashe grinned.

Cyril wanted to scream in frustration. “Even so, there’s nothing going on! She doesn’t like me that way!”

“Right. Fling.” Leonie patted his back as if that was a consolidation.

Cyril was done, so he rushed forward at the first sight of the gates. Unfortunately for him, the brooding crowd of the mercenaries standing by the halls didn’t elate the atmosphere either; their disheveled eyes searched for their leader who reigned in after Cyril, and called in for her to seek out Felix and the others. With a quick nod Leonie instructed one of the nameless members to bring the baggage with them and the three quickly returned to the guest rooms where the lords resided.

Marianne was standing by the window, her long braid brushing the curtains as she stopped midway in her talk to welcome the three. With chin held high and clear, chestnut eyes, she called them to sit down in the back behind the lords before she continued. She lingered her stare at the mercenary holding the dead rabbit who trailed after Leonie.

Rodrigue pinched his nose bridge and picked up discussion. “It is uncouth that you would expect us to falter and abandon our kingdom when there was an attack. We have to return.”

The other lords nodded in agreement.

Marianne gracefully folded her hands over her lap. “We respect that choice of course, but based on the patterns we have observed, it is unsafe to move westward at the moment. As mentioned, House Dominic has fallen a few days ago, and the report depicted a beast that razed through the barony and cleared way for the Adrestrian rebels to march through. Lady Catherine was able to slay the beast but couldn’t hold the army back and had to retreat her team. Baron Dominic disappeared before battle and is presumed to have been kidnapped. They have passed House Gaspard with no attack, but House Charon reported that tombs in their mausoleum were emptied out. I have a strong belief that they will head for Fhirdiad, and with the notice that the archbishop has sent they should have a strong rapport for defense.”

“What made you predict that they would go straight to the capital? How did the archbishop determine this?” 

Marianne simmered the taste of her next words before she spoke. “We have internal workers in the west who informed us of a raid in Enbarr’s royal tombs, and the one surviving member of the Hresvelg family, the eldest son isolated in the psychiatry ward, survived a grave injury by an unknown attacker. Not only that, but the surviving lords, Count Varley and Count Bergliez reported similar stories with unusual visits in their morgues and several assassination attempts against them.”

Lorenz stood up and placed a hand on Marianne’s shoulder. “The Head of Daphnel also told me that there was a search done in the castle of Galatea just before the dissolve, but unfortunately for them Galatea sink their bodies in the sea, so there were no tombs to raid. Based on the pattern we have come to conclusion that the attacks are related to the Houses with those born with a Crest either in the past or now.”

“Is that why Gronder Field was burned to the ground?” Sylvain seethed through his smile. “Since the fallen Crest bearers were of interest, you wanted to make sure they wouldn’t get to Dimitri and Ingrid?”

“It appears so,” Marianne walked over to the mercenary with the baggage. “And it seems the reason of our suspicion has been confirmed just now. May I?”

She picked up the stained wrappings from the mercenary’s arms, unfolding the cloth to reveal the rabbit. The black clots lined up the underbelly and widened into a purplish stain. Cyril couldn’t help but think how the tone resembled the skin of the Ten Elites they had fought five years ago. Marianne spoke a few ancient verses, the cutting voice putting them on edge as they watched a dark glow unfurling from the body. The leg began to twitch. 

“My knowledge is minimal in dark magic, but it looks like Those Who Slither in The Dark are attempting reanimation. This little one is proof that they have practiced here in Leicester just recently. It is the same magic that brought Nemesis back to life five years ago, and they are now attempting to use the descendants of The Ten Elites for the upcoming attack. They need the bodies for this purpose, which is why the archbishop has made that order. It’s to protect Dimitri and Ingrid from facing that fate.”

“Well, sounds like we have an easy solution then,” Sylvain clapped his hands onto his knees and glared. “We just burn every single one of our ancestors so they don’t come back to haunt us. Seems the monastery already had a head start on it. I’ll just send a quick message to my house so they can take their turn. Right, I should also order a beautiful urn for my grandmother.”

“Your enthusiasm is impeccable,” Lorenz hissed. “But either way, we need to be cautious. It is clear that the rebels from the former empire are working together with Those Who Slither in the Dark, and they are performing necromancy.”

“That is all the more reason for us to return,” one of the other lords added. “We have to protect the civilians from the undead. We don’t want to face another massacre as five years ago.”

“As I mentioned, Fhirdiad is building up its defense, and there will be reinforcement going,” Marianne paused. “The archbishop will personally fight at the frontline and make sure that the north is safe.”

There was silence.

“Either way, we know that Crest bearers are a target,” Marianne began. “If there are any other Who Slither in The Dark, they will likely strike us here. So in that regard, we will stand ready to protect the ones in this place. The Knights of Seiros is sending a fleet to join us in three days as well. We will see from there how this will escalate.”

The crowd was dismissed even though many sprung up in frustration. Concentrating them together in one location was a disastrous plan. What if the enemy had more javelins of light? What if they disguised themselves as a friend and assassinated them one by one?

But Lorenz portrayed his strong voice and rationalized the outcome with the words of the archbishop. Just the word of Lady Byleth was enough for many to place their trust on this plan, and the qualms quickly dissipated into mutters. Everyone had witnessed her tactical abilities. They were otherworldly. And it saved them all.

While the mutters thinned out and the people swam out of the room, Cyril couldn’t help but note how Ashe was floundering near Marianne. She was busy speaking with Lorenz to notice the red faced man, and then another messenger intruded into the line and distracted her. Ashe patiently sat back. Frustrated and amused at the same time, Cyril was about to push him to talk to her, but the messenger mentioned _her_ and that stopped him in his tracks, noise fading out, a chill running down his spine.

While they were busy trying to protect all the Crest bearers, Those Who Slither in The Dark singled out the one who was not in the crowd.

Hilda had been kidnapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plots are revealing and stuff is churning!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda makes an offer with Those Who Slither in The Dark

Hilda blinked her eyes to adjust to the dimness, picking out the outlines of the gravures pressed against her cheek. Her thighs chilled against the cold slab of stone. She toppled over her elbows as she tried to pull herself up, and realized she couldn’t pull her arms apart. The rustic chains clinked as she tugged her wrists.

The back of her neck felt sore as she got up. She remembered then that they had knocked her out once they arrived at their new location. The last thing she saw were stones stretching over a townscape, with vines that dressed over decadent glass buildings on top of the central hill. There was only one city that was known for this signature architecture- House Ordelia, the beauty on the riverbanks that was drowned in the political debacle and drained of its historic power. 

A light peeked through a slit and Hilda shuffled towards it, pressing her ears against the opening as she heard murmurs on the other side. The wall opened up- it was a door- and the light glared at her before the shape of a man came through.

“Get out,” the masked guard ordered. Hilda obliged and walked past him, making note of possible exits.

“So where are we?” Hilda asked when the guard behind her urged her to move.

The armour clanked with every step he made. “You are meeting with Master Periander.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t really answer my question.” The hallway split, and Hilda turned left after the guard blocked the other end.

“You are to speak about what you have promised to offer.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really say I promised, but I’m sure we can have a nice talk about Freikugel.” There was a fresh, floral breeze passing through. “It smells wonderful in here, I must say.”

The guard opened the gates, bringing them out onto a botanical garden. In the center of the spring of flowers stood the tall, dark robed man she recognized from the mountains. His grey beard lined with black carved out the outline of his face and joined to his hairline, with trims closing in around the blue eyes that icily observed her. Hilda was pushed into his perimeter.

“I’ll take it you are the infamous Periander,” Hilda greeted him, standing prettily as if there was no discontent.

“Hmph.” Periander snubbed at her with a glance. “I cannot conceive why you would offer your prized possession in exchange for your elderly, yet here you are. You can’t honestly believe you can trick me, do you?”

“But seeing how I’m here you do believe that I can bring you value,” Hilda retorted. “And as you’ve seen yourself, I am not carrying Freikugel. I’m not using it, so it must be hidden somewhere. Just sitting around, catching dust.”

“A wasteful misuse of such a powerful weapon.” He plucked a rose from the bushes and crushed it in his palms. “It’s clear that you might as well tell me the location where you have it hidden. You know what the consequences are if you mislead us.”

Hilda kept a neutral stance. He was surprisingly going straight to the point, which disappointed her. What foolish negotiation tactic they attempted to pull off. It felt like she shouldn’t work up her energy equipping her silver tongue.

“Well, do you want Freikugel or not?” 

“You are peculiarly impassionate about this.”

“It’s a weapon that looks scary, and it doesn’t go well with my look, so for an heirloom it’s pretty worthless to me…” She noted the tension in his jaw. “…But I’m not dumb. I know it’s a powerful weapon. I hid it in the deepest forest you probably haven’t heard of. And well, it’s hard to describe the way to get there, since, you know, it’s all just trees, so I suggest I accompany you to show you.”

After some silent calculations the tall man abided, promising that her movement would be limited, and after summoning dozen other members, they warped to the secret forest shrouded by silken mist. Hilda was wrapped on all sides with the backs of grey-skinned mercenaries. There was no way she could slip between them and merge into the shadows.

“Where to, Goneril?”

Hilda gulped. She slowly stepped forward, the men around her matching her direction. The rustling of the pines they brushed past were rough and dry, but the soil sinking under their steps spat out moisture.

Hilda licked her lips. _Here we go_. “This place has a long forgotten tomb that the old ones protected with their lives. However, the guy who was enshrined was despised so the descendants were too embarrassed to continue that practice, not understanding why it was protected to begin with. So, it has been abandoned since.”

She looked up and observed the alignment of the gaps between the trees and turned left. The dirt rolled into steps that built up like the spines of a back, with black smearing the foul logs resting between the mounds. She tip-toed around the bulk and walked up the slope until the bushes filled in the grounds. Those Who Slither in the Dark were keeping a steady pace and continued making sure that no intrusions were nearby, but that was of little assurance with the mist thickening into layers. “It worked in my favour, since nobody found this place before me. It’s my wonderful secret place,” Hilda continued.

She pointed at a clearing past the bushes. A large statue was encapsulated by walls on three of its side, with the moss-covered face staring blankly at them. The foot of the display was cleared, with a split along the worn down stone slab indicating that there was a surface that could be moved. Hilda gestured at them that this was the hiding spot, but Periander was hesitant.

“This is clearly set up as a trap. You will open it up and bring out the weapon.”

Hilda dropped her smirk. One member shoved her forward, and she sweated profusely as she knelt next to the slab. Only after the encouragement of a lance poking her spine did she begin pinching her fingers into the gap and lifting the slab up. The crunching of the grit and groans of the statue chased the birds out the perimeter until only the crackles of the leaves could be heard. With a final huff Hilda secured the slab upright. Periander stepped closer to the underlying pit and eyed a crusty sabre; it looked drab with the ridges along the spine of the blade, fine hairs tethered around the hilt and leather of unfamiliar texture wrapped around the handle.

“What is this weapon?” Periander asked carefully, inspecting the weapon from afar.

“It is Blutgang, a weapon built for a hero who fought against Nemesis.” Hearing that, one member curiously bent over and picked up the sword by the handle.

“It’s made of bones…To think that the people of Fodlan would sire such weapons out from humans as well…” He observed the blade and stopped at the gem nestled in the carvings at the hilt. A rustle. “That looks awfully like a crest though.”

“Oh, didn’t I mention that Maurice was a crest bearer?” Hilda smirked and ducked. An arrow cleanly shot through the member’s skull. The blade fell before the body did, and at the first clank of the blade hitting the ground, a wolfish beast leaped out of the fog and ripped through two other members. An archer shot more arrows from the trees, catching the ones who tried to dodge the wolf.

“What is this nonsense?!” Periander screamed. “Did none of you sense the beasts?!”

The survivors pulled into a circle and unsheathed their weapons and magic tomes. “No, Periander. There is no indication of a Crest beast either!”

Hilda leapt into the fog, hoping that the thickness would cover her traces. Periander shouted to chase after her when a lizard broke in from the other side of the hill. Astonished and furious, Periander swung his arms and sent a perishing spell at the creature, blowing it back and crushing the trees beneath. More arrows whistled into his direction, and the wolf beast blocked Periander’s way.

Once at a safe distance, Hilda whipped her head around and realized that she escaped. Her legs buckled and she dropped to the ground in relief. She clutched her chest and thanked Marianne for the times they frequented the forest after they defeated the Wandering Beast. Marianne returned to the forest to bury Blutgang as her way to promise not to rely on the Relic, so Hilda had stayed by her side for protection. It seemed that there was no need for that though because the beasts were of Maurice’s former clan and they recognized Marianne from Maurice’s acknowledgement, and Hilda was put her under the same association by mere presence, allowing the two to be unharmed during their visit. She had never entered the forest on her own, so she sighed with relief that they recognized her. Her gamble had paid off. 

Hilda collected herself and toppled her way through the forest. The sounds of roaring and spellcasts quelled with the distance, and she had to now face the challenge of finding her way out. She sought out the tallest pine tree to climb. Hilda hadn’t done this in a while, but after several attempts of grabbing branches and her grip slipping off, she managed to purchase enough height that she could overlook the landscape. The peak of Garreg Mach was visible, but it was in the direction she just came from. Great.

And then she saw the area shift.

The hill where the battle occurred began rumbling and rose up, higher and higher that even the trees that desperately clung with their roots broke off. The grassy surface tore off and revealed a growing, grey mound of sickly colour, slowly transcending and eating up the last bit of dirt and root that were still affixed, and in its stead toothy scales pierced through. A spine arched over the landscape and two spear-like bones jutted out with fan of skin. The grossly weathered wings began beating downward through painful groans that hissed out a cloud over the entire radius. A pair of pale venomous eyes spliced open. 

Hilda shivered when she saw the creature. It looked like a corpse of a scaled beast larger than any wyvern she had faced, the closest resemblance being the ivory dragon she witnessed piercing the Javelin of Light over Shambala. Did Those Who Slither in The Dark create it?

The Creature roared and turned to her direction and she felt her stomach drop. There was no way she could single-handedly best it, let alone without a weapon. Hilda had to find a way to get to the monastery for support.

She dropped from the tree and raced down toward the cliff encircling Garreg Mach. As long as she could see wall she’d be in the right direction, and the Creature was loud enough that she could loop around it at a safe distance.

But she neglected one factor as she hopped over the mossy rocks.

Hilda barely heard the spell whistle when the Miasma hurled against her. She keeled over the rocks and quickly flipped herself back up, shielding herself as Periander walked toward her.

“You are a crafty bitch, I tell you,” Periander huffed. His eye was bruised, and blood was dripping from his swollen mouth. “But I appreciate the quick lesson you have given us. To think that another one of the Fallen King’s warriors with a relic weapon faced their demise here! I may not have your Relic, but I appreciate the offering you catered us with.”

“What are you talking about?!” Hilda hissed. Periander was building up another attack, dark flames flickering around him.

“That is not of your concern. You are of more use to me as a corpse!” The purple Hades fire sprang up from beneath, burning the soles of her boots before Hilda jumped back. She grunted when she landed on the rocks. The attack was enough to eat through the leather and scorched her skin. Hilda retreated into the thicker part of the forest, biting back the screaming pain with every step she took. Periander shouted in frustration as he couldn’t get a clear shot of her.

Hilda wheezed when her lungs burned from the rush, and she snuck herself between the crevices of the mountain wall. The spells were shooting about at random, clearing out patches here and there in hopes to expose her. Periander was wandering past her, grinning with fury as he kneaded another attack between his hands. She gritted her teeth and ripped her coat off while she waited for him to face away from her, then she jumped him from behind and toppled him onto the ground, roping the cloth around his throat. With all her weight pinned on his back she pulled the rope up on each end, but Periander avoided the choke by flinging his head back, so she pushed his head down with her knee in retaliation. She pulled harder until she heard him gurgle, but was so focused on ensuring he passed out that she didn’t notice the light building from his palms under her, and the spell blasting at her side threw her off-balance enough that he was able to shift himself off of her. She landed on her elbow but used the momentum to spring herself up and tackled him by his hip. Hilda had no moment to check his state, let alone recover; the heavy rumble of the Wandering Beast was closing in. She ran over to the wall and began climbing. Panic was rising up when she _felt_ the roaring of that monster up her spine.

It was when she was at the height of the forest crowns when she finally saw the Creature at the corner of her eyes. Hilda wasn’t going to make it; she was still within his reach. As if on cue, the Creature hurled rocks at her. She clung to the wall with all her might, ignoring the rocks and pebbles raining over her, and once it cleared she climbed faster. The trees collapsed underneath the Creature’s claws as he crushed his way closer to her. Tears began welling in her eyes when she realized she couldn’t escape. This was it. The next attack would hit her.

Fleeting regrets rushed up in her instant before the end. She began thinking of her last moments with her parents and Holst, her professors and students of her proud academy, and Marianne. And Claude; that asshole hadn’t seen her since he left the country for good. And for some reason, Cyril’s face also flitted past her.

The Creature clawed into the ground and began ripping out a boulder. She squeezed her eye shut and braced for the flying rocks that’d inevitably end her.

But instead she heard the shouts of warriors flurrying from above. The wind cut past her and down to the beast.

“To think that any second longer would have been too late, I’m glad that we found you.” Hilda opened her eyes and faced Seteth reaching out for her from the back of his wyvern. Hilda couldn’t even respond; she was so fatigued that she just let go of the rocks and fell into his arms.

Seteth flew her up to the top of the cliff and dropped her there before he plunged down to join his battalion fighting the beast. Hilda felt so ragged when a soothing hand rested on her back.

“I have no idea how you got into this mess, but I thought the Professor sent you back home precisely so you didn’t get into this situation!” Lysithea bickered as she healed Hilda’s wounds.

“Lysithea!”

Oh, it was wonderful to see a familiar face.

“Hey, it’s all good, girl,” Lysithea smiled.

Relief opened the floodgates. Hilda howled like a child, letting the tears spring out as Lysithea quietly healed her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo an action scene! So this trap was set in Marianne's paralogue map- that place gave me pure PTSD, but the story behind the forgotten hero was just too interesting to just be mentioned in the game (and other aspects of the lore for that matter). 
> 
> Would like to get feedback on my writing; I know I got room for improvement here lol


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a rescue team is sent for Hilda

Cyril was seeing red. 

Lorenz shouted when Cyril sprang out of the room. Ashe began chasing after him and crashed over the seats, but the noise garnered enough attention that Leonie and Felix rammed Cyril at the halls and pinned him to the floor.

“Get a hold of yourself, boy!” Felix shouted when Cyril tried to wrangle his way out.

“Let me go!”

“You need to take a deep breath, Cyril!” Leonie kept her grip on him until he followed her instructions and eased his breathing. Once it was clear that Cyril wasn’t throwing a fit they let him go. Lorenz, Marianne and Ashe flitted in and stared like he was a bewildered dog that needed to be calmed.

“I shouldn’t have let her go…” Cyril was heaving.

“It is not your fault, Cyril,” Lorenz promised. “It sounds like they coordinated this for a while and waited for her to be on her own. It’s why they made sure that they kidnapped her only when she travelled to Goneril and not in her academy, Garreg Mach or here. House Goneril is quite isolated after all.”

“She was here?! And you didn’t stop her?!” Cyril shouted.

There was a wince before Lorenz glared back. “I did not know this would happen. I thought she’d be safe if she returned to Goneril. I only read the letter the archbishop sent me with the warning after she had departed.”

“How can you be so careless?!”

“Either way, we must find a way to rescue her,” Marianne interjected. “I may not be of much help, but I will do my best to make sure she’s safe.”

“Of course. The messenger said that her parents had been taken hostage and she exchanged herself on their behalf. Lord Goneril said they had been searching for Freikugel.” Lorenz said.

“Then they must be where she hid Freikugel!” Ashe exclaimed. “Does anyone know where that is?”

“Umm…” Marianne picked her nails. “I am familiar with the hidden location, but I will not reveal it here. This is too sensitive to be handled openly from this point on.”

“Okay. Marianne and I will conduct a strategy then and set up a small team,” Lorenz decided. Everyone set off to split when Cyril got up and met Marianne’s gaze.

“Marianne, I’ll come with you.” Cyril clenched his fist. “Whatever plan ya have, I’ll join you.”

Marianne studied his orange eyes and nodded, then turned back with Lorenz to the meeting room.

“You gave me quite a shock there, kid.” Leonie lightly punched Cyril’s shoulder. Cyril huffed. “So Hilda has been kidnapped… damn, Marianne must be upset right now.”

Felix nodded. “I guess that’s what they meant in the meeting. We have to stay on our toes.”

“Felix, that goes for you too.” Leonie grabbed his arm. “They seem to be after the ones with Crests. Don’t leave my side, is that clear?”

Felix sneered but didn’t say anything.

Ashe balanced himself on the balls of his heels, watching anxiously as Cyril stared afar. He announced that the two of them would run errands to keep themselves busy, so after asking for the directions from a servant, Ashe pulled Cyril by the arm and they retreated to the armory to organize the weapons.

Ashe fumbled for the lamp to light the entrance, only to discover that the lances, swords and armors were lined up perfectly with not a single cobweb around to be brushed off. Ashe sighed when they had nothing to occupy themselves with, only for Cyril to wander in anyway.

“You know Cyril, I understand how you feel,” Ashe muttered as he followed him in. “To hear that the north is getting invaded is making me antsy, and I’d want to head over there right now. They all say not to worry, but it’s a horrible feeling to be so…helpless.”

Cyril didn’t say anything and continued further into the depths of the room, where he trailed his finger over the sharp edge of the axes. “Hey Ashe.”

“Yes?”

“Did I ever tell you about how Hilda and I ever fought?”

Ashe snickered. “Didn’t you two always argue?”

Cyril shook his head. “This was different. This was back in the academy, after the war settled down and recovery was in order. I was scouting the area one day to look for survivors from what I remember. Was flying around and picking up injured people and took them back to the nursing office or nearby camps. Was pretty ugly, the way many got injured.

“So I found this one warrior who fought along with Holst back when Nemesis first attacked. His armor was crushed in and he was barely breathing – I don’t even know why I thought he was alive from up in the sky- but I took him to Manuela.

“Thing is, he had been calling for Hilda in his delusions. Didn’t think much of it, it’s pro’ly a common name. But Manuela showed up one day and called Hilda over and she went and checked. First she went because she was asked to, but then she went every day when lunch was over, when she was supposed to do chores with me. She even took some extra food with her. 

“I didn’t mind it at first, but after a while it got annoying that she’d just leave me on my own. So I confronted her at lunch time, and she explained that the man was her cousin, and he was gonna die soon. Some fever he picked up from the infections. She was there so he’d have some company when he died.

“I didn’t buy it. I figured she made some excuse to get away from work, so I followed her up to the nursing office, and there he was. He looked sick and was sweating all over. He called Hilda in his delusions and she went over to him and fed him soup with a spoon. It was a weird thing to watch.

“But then I looked at the man and recognized his face, now that he didn’t have his helmet on. His name was Heth, he was a noble from Goneril, and the man who strung me and four other children out of my village when they fought the Almyrans. He took us into his household and forced us to serve and… ‘reform’ us. The three other children were older than me, and I guess they knew where this was going, and they sprang off of the highest tower. Thanks to that Heth decided that chaining my feet would be the solution, saying that he was ‘saving me from certain death’. It was a miserable time, and it was all because of him.

“And Hilda was taking care of him. I pulled her aside and told her to leave him to die. Do you know what she did? She slapped me. Called me cruel.

“I was furious. There was the man who created so many orphans and enslaved us, and Hilda chose to honour _him_ of all people. I screamed that he was a horrible man and that she should stay away from him, but she began shouting back. We got kicked out because we were riling up the patients.

“I was upset. But so was she. She refused to talk to me, but so did I. I couldn’t understand her stubbornness. He was an evil man. Days passed by, and for some reason all I remember was the quietness. It was so quiet.

“Whenever I pass her I see the hurt in her eyes and realized that I couldn’t hold this hatred in me. Does Hilda really need to know the truth? Heth was dying soon; he wasn’t gonna hurt anymore people. And I didn’t want to make Hilda any more upset. So one day I finally stopped avoiding her and told her that I’d be there for her when it was over.

“Hilda thanked me and went back to see Heth right after. He died the very same night. And as if everything was normal, Hilda returned back to the chores the next day. But now she seemed more… gentle. She hadn’t spoken carelessly like she used to.

“We worked late that day and rested on a log pile when she was holding my hand. She was really quiet. She told me that Heth confessed what he did to me in his dying moments. But… he said he was proud… he said that he _fixed_ me.

“I couldn’t speak. My blood was boiling. Hilda must have known what his words did to me and she apologized for what I had gone through, but didn’t ask for forgiveness. I’m glad though that she didn’t speak on his behalf, because she wasn’t there, she didn’t know what to apologize _for_. So we just sat there for a while. Hilda didn’t say anything since and stared into nothing. For some reason it was that moment that spoke the loudest to me. She just looked so… vulnerable then.”

Cyril inspected the Brave Axes, thinking back of the time he and Hilda often visited the blacksmith. He realized it was the quiet moments between them that he treasured the most. The candle flickered listlessly in the lamp Ashe was holding.

“Cyril, thank you for trusting me with this,” Ashe whispered after a while. “I wish I had been there for you when you had to face Heth again. That sounded like a painful time.”

“Don’t worry about it. Ya had to help your siblings at your home,” Cyril shook his head. “I have moved on from that. My point was that Hilda could have worried about herself -that with her cousin’s death and learning about him enslaving children- but she ended up staying with me instead.”

Ashe nodded. “I understand. But to be honest, she sounded very lonely.” 

Cyril gave him a sad smile.

\+ + +

Freikugel was hidden in Fodlan’s Throat. Marianne was with Hilda when she decided on the output, and they secreted it in a cave away from the fortress, just south of the Locket.

With that knowledge it was decided that a small team would venture out to collect it. Marianne would take Cyril with her, as well as three independent mercenaries. Ashe was too prominent to leave unattended, and with Leonie and Felix still contracted to watch the Faerghus lords they’d not be able to follow along. Sylvain, Mercedes and Lorenz couldn’t depart under Lady Byleth’s orders, as they were Crest bearers at risk of being targeted. Marianne insisted that she would be an exception, being that her Crest is a forgotten one, managing to pull herself away from the protective grasps and prepared for the journey.

The team of five disappeared at the night’s peak, three mercenaries muffling the gallop noise by directing the horses across the soft grass and Marianne and Cyril silently gliding through the clouds with their pegasus and wyvern. They sped eastward with agonizing velocity that the steeds only allowed in affection to Marianne. Their break came through when the border mustered over the horizons, and Marianne steered them away from the nearby towns to the alcove of an outcast hut. Being so close to where Hilda might be, they had to be careful to anticipate potential enemies waiting for their arrival.

As instructed by Lorenz, the mercenaries sped ahead and sought out the area for traps, attackers and inconspicuous routes to reach the cave. Cyril acted indifferent while carving more arrow heads during his wait, but his jumpy legs gave his anxiety away, but Marianne was thankfully occupied with her prayers that she repeated while brushing her pegasus’ coat.

Cyril observed Marianne from the corner of his eyes, envious at how well she repressed her internal turmoil. He then noticed the way she leaned against her steed, her eyes shining as brightly as the jewelry adorning her braid. She reminded him of Hilda, the way she carried a confidence that her past self would not have recognized, but it was also of no surprise given that the two women had lives so tightly intertwined that it’d reflect in their gestures.

“Hilda will be okay.”

Marianne stopped brushing the mane and turned to him with a surprised look.

Cyril blushed. “Just wanna let you know.”

The end of her lips curled up. “Thank you, Cyril. I believe so too.”

Cyril looked away. He used to dislike Marianne in the academy, and there were moments when he even despised her. She used to float about like a ghost and depreciated herself with self-hating words so frustrating they scathed his ears whenever he heard them. This was a girl whose all needs were catered to and she still found displeasure in life. She was an ungrateful being. The only reason he tolerated her was after discovering how well she cared for the horses, making her one of the reliable ones to trust the stable duties to when needed. Cyril never interacted with her, but after noticing Hilda chatting with her and Ashe being so smitten with her, he began to question what else he missed. After witnessing Marianne smile for the first time, he suspected that he finally found the answer.

He heard her giggle and turned back to see her fold her fine fingers over her mouth. “I believe this is the first time we had been tasked to work together,” Marianne commented.

Cyril didn’t want to correct her, but there was one time when they conducted the skywatch together in their first season of his enrollment. Cyril refused to speak to her and Marianne clamped her mouth shut the entire time, and Lady Byleth stopped pairing them up after marking their barren report.

“We’ll find Hilda,” Cyril said instead. He didn’t know what else to say.

Marianne hummed. “I’m glad you came along, Cyril. I had been meaning to talk to you for a while but never got a chance to do so. I’m sorry if you ever felt that I ignored you.”

Cyril shook his head. “No, don’t be. I never thought you ignored me. I knew you were just taken up by your worries and that had nothing to do with me.”

Marianne flinched and her shoulders slumped. “I suppose…”

Cyril stiffened when he realized that it came across as an insult. He wouldn’t apologize though, since it was the truth. “So whatcha wanna talk about?”

“Ah, right…” Marianne fiddled with the brush. She receded into the former meekness that he was familiar with. Her chestnut eyes flitted between her feet and him like a chirp sparrow seeking for a piece of corn, but her mouth wouldn’t form the question. Cyril was fascinated watching the sequence of self-debate unfold and in his amusement he accidentally pushed the box of arrow tips that were by his feet. The latch opened and the metal pieces clattered out, distracting Marianne from her thoughts. Cyril was constrained by the pile of sticks that laid on his lap to immediately bend over, but Marianne already knelt down and swept the wave of metal into the container.

She handed the container over with a shy smile. “You took really good care of Myrtle. Her scales have a good luster.”

Cyril’s lips twitched into a similar smile. Embarrassed, he returned to his work and focused on the branch he had secured between his fingers and notched the tip off. “Myrtle was with me from the day she hatched. She’s my everything.”

“She looks very similar to Catria. Are they the same breed?” Marianne knelt down and handed him an arrow tip she found rolling around the chair leg. He accepted it and lodged it onto the shaft.

“They are. Claude received them as donation during the reunion, and while three of them were given to the Knights of Seiros, he offered the other ones to Hilda and me.”

Marianne smiled. “I remember Hilda describing you like a mother hen. It’s easy to see why she said that, especially with the way you talk about them.”

Cyril snickered at the memory of when he was on top of the tower to protect the eggs. He refused to leave them with the monastery’s breeders and stayed overnight when the winds were chill and nocturnal creatures prowled through the openings. That was the only time he ever abandoned his chores without guilt, but the bitter quiet in the bastion was eerie after getting accustomed to the hustle and bustle within the monastery. Because he was so far above the ground, the dawn wouldn’t reach him before the rest of the residents closer to the light stream, but he knew when day broke by hearing the clopping steps coming from the staircase. His first morning in the tower was welcomed with Hilda’s arrival, huffed as she climbed the last few steps to his tower, making a quick complaint about the strenuous exercise before she plopped down next to him with a basket of bread and cheese. He told her not to bother, but she insisted that it was the least she could do when he protected their eggs.

Other students came by as well to check up on him, and it was around the time Ignatz fawned over the blues in the skyscape that the eggs began to hatch. It was the moment that stirred his heart the most, hearing the faint cries of his wyvern when she slowly pecked through the shell and Cyril laid out his hand for her to land on. The fledgling was weakly groveling in his palm and slowly fought to open her eyes. The green iris shone as bright as emeralds and a tuft of white sprung up where her horns would eventually grow, and with her dangling shiver she almost appeared like a flower… like a myrtle. Cyril was entranced and began wiping the slime off her soft scales when Hilda ran in with Ignatz closely behind (who likely dashed off to call her over when the hatching began). Her eyes softened and her smile rounded her cheeks still flush from the run, and she slowly graced a finger over Myrtle. Cyril couldn’t believe that he captured Hilda’s marveled reaction with his own eyes, but it was the moment when Catria began hatching that enchanted him the most; Hilda stopped still at the first cracking sounds, and when she watched the beak come through, she knelt next to the egg and protectively laid her hands around the emerging fledgling. She smiled with a motherly smile, completely unaware of the joyous tears trickling down her cheeks. In a time where blood was tolled in the war, it was a grateful reminder of what they sought to protect. Still, it was Hilda’s soft laugh dripping between her coos that soothed his exhausted mind, at peace that such moments would trickle in more often once the war was over.

Cyril gave out a long sigh. Marianne passed him another arrow tip and asked if she said something wrong. He scrunched his brows together, a deep ridge forming on his forehead. Should he confide in Hilda’s best friend about his feelings?

Marianne was still as the water, leaving Cyril to swim in his thoughts, but the rustling sounds when she lifted the pool of her dress pulled him back to attention. He looked up and stiffened when she laid a palm on his head, like a mother casting away the worries of her child.

“You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Had he been that obvious? Cyril dropped his chin with guilt. He didn’t know Marianne well, but from the little he had learnt of her, she seemed to be trustworthy enough to spill your feelings to without worrying about judgment. She was Hilda’s best friend too, so maybe she’d give insight on what he did that made Hilda push him away.

He lifted his gaze. “Actually-“ 

They were interrupted by the coded knock at the wall and Marianne released the barrier that sealed the opening.

One of the mercenaries returned and found the way to the hidden cave.

However, Marianne and Cyril were distracted by the additional person who was behind them.

The mercenary brought Caspar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's kinda funny how this entire chapter is concurrent to Chapter 15 but she ends up being on the opposite side of the map and ends up being fine. 
> 
> And it's Cyril's birthday today! Happy birthday!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where chit-chats move between politics and gossip

Hilda sighed blissfully when she dipped her feet into the hot water. Most of the scrapes and burns on her soles were healed by the medics that Lysithea hustled over, but when they discovered that her internal injuries still pulsed in pain, they retrieved a wooden bucket and filled it with the water and simmered it up to a soothing temperature. They ran off with Lysithea just as quickly to the edge of the cliffside to string a wall of flame that they bombarded into the battlefield against the raging Creature. Hilda sat back on the boulder and listened to the clashing and roaring that were dabbled with ruptured breaths of the fliers that rushed back to resupply their javelins. The water rippling around her ankles eventually stilled though. Cheers basked through the camp when the battalion returned with fists in the air. The waves of healing magic washed through the fliers as they passed through, and at last Seteth as well, but he was with a face so aghast even Hilda could tell from afar, and after dropping off of his wyvern he walked straight toward her.

Hilda gave him a small wave and patted on the boulder for him to sit. Seteth ended up standing instead, eyeing her suspiciously with his face still pale.

She turned up her shoulders. “Looks like even if Byleth wanted me gone I’d find a way back.”

“I can see that,” Seteth tried to smile, but it trembled with sadness. “We have captured one of the attackers. He needs to be treated though before he can be interrogated, but I promise you we will make sure he gets the justice he deserves.”

“Great.” The heat of the water dissipated and she pulled out her pruning toes. She wriggled them dry while staring at the moccasins the healer handed to her earlier. Although the drab leather looked far too abysmal, it was better than walking bare feet. 

“So how did you find me?” Hilda asked while she slipped them on, wincing at the unsightliness.

“We just recouped from a trip to Gronder field and were heading north to reinforce Leicester. As we scaled the mountains we heard the unnatural tremors and we followed it with the fliers. I have to admit I was stunned when I spotted you.”

Seteth’s emerald eyes tilted over to her, awaiting to be filled with an answer, and it prompted her to retell what she encountered since she crossed the monastery’s gates. She spoke of the sudden ambush and hostage situation when she arrived at home, but the line of his jaws tensed when Hilda mentioned the rise of the Creature.

“It was a mistake on our part to assume you were safe out there,” Seteth finally murmured. “It is important that you stay with a group. You are clearly a target as long as Those Who Slither in The Dark roam about. You should also inform the archbishop on this manner before she leaves the church for her own mission.”

Hilda simply shrugged. What could she do at this point? She might as well tag along and hope her friends fared better than she did.

Her hair whirled when she turned to Seteth. “I suppose news hasn’t travelled to my home yet, right? Can I first borrow some ink and paper and let my family know I’m okay?”

“…Of course.” Seteth took her to the cliff side where his table and writing tools were laid out in a tent. She ignored the tacticians fiddling over their map and leafed through the letters for a blank parchment, picked a feather, and began writing. She finished off with her signature loop that enveloped the footer of the sheet, then rolled it up and squeezed it into Seteth’s hands. She used their moment of perplexity to leave the tent.

“Hilda! Where are you going?!” Seteth shouted after her.

Hilda slung a smile. “No worries, Seteth, I’ll make sure to talk to Byleth.”

That was the promise, but knowing that this information likely would lead to a string of work, Hilda diverted for a minute of fun – ah, there she was! Lysithea was hunched over, adjusting a headband around her temple so that the violet gems studding the headdress framed her pale complexion. Hilda couldn’t help but squeal at the sight, which reflexively got Lysithea to whisk around with hands covering her forehead, a pointless effort when the gems shimmered like trickles in the rain.

Lysithea groaned and dropped her hands. Hilda clapped her hands together as she fawned over the fine accessory.

“It’s _gorgeous_! I have to know where you got it!”

Lysithea furrowed her brows, as if trying to divert Hilda’s attention away from the blush dusting her cheeks. “Professor Hanneman found an artisan in Enbarr when he went for a visit. He was able to help craft a contraption for our Crestology research. And well, on his second trip picking up the order I went along and met the artisan’s sister, who has been crafting jewelry enhanced with magic. She’s very good at making them.”

“Uh-huh. Nothing to do with how beautiful it looks,” Hilda added playfully while rubbing the lace between her fingers. The craftsmanship was exceptional, with no threads splaying out of the knots woven around the gems. 

Lysithea grunted.

Hilda tilted her head up to inspect her closer. The hollowed cheek, skin as pale as a ghost and her snow-white short hair did little to reflect her youth, so it was no surprise that Lysithea tried to rectify it with brighter and elegant clothes.

Hilda let go of the laces and dropped the grin she was carrying. “You’re deliberately holding back to see Lorenz, aren’t you?”

Lysithea shuffled her feet and bit her lips. “Is that so wrong?”

“Well, yeah, he’s your husband!” Hilda rested a hand on her hips. “Why are you afraid to see him? Is it because of your hair?”

“Wha- what’s wrong with my haircut?!” Lysithea instinctively ran a hair through her pixie cut. “It makes me look more mature!”

 _Oh dear._ Hilda didn’t have the heart to tell her that it’d only work if she didn’t look so sickly. “So why aren’t you planning to see him?”

The headpiece dangled as Lysithea lowered her chin. “My goal is to not see him until I finish my study. I want to see his reaction when I return successfully.”

“So you’re almost there?”

Lysithea’s eyes brightened. “Yes! The contraption we received works just as we predicted! We had been operating it for the last two weeks and we’re getting great results, so once I’m back from the front lines, Professor Hanneman and I will conduct the final test!”

The smile radiating from the warlock was contagious, and Hilda squeezed her hands while Lysithea rambled about the experiment. But at some point she needed to be stopped. “I am very happy for you, but you should write to Lorenz here and there to let him know how you’re doing. I’m sure he’s worried sick about you.”

Lysithea was annoyed that Hilda cut her off, but shrugged. “I do send quick notes. He has been sending me letters and gifts, but I just didn’t know how to answer, since I want to tell him everything face to face. So I just tell him what I thought of the sweets that came in the packages.”

“I suppose that’s fine. You had been very… _curt_ with words in any of your letters. I still remember the wedding invitation.”

“Hey, Lorenz wrote such a long, meaningful message, I could hardly follow that up with my garbage. A thank you was enough.”

Hilda had to giggle at that. “That is so you, but it works because you complement him so well. I know I’ve been gushing over you during the wedding, but I meant it – you two are _perfect_ for each other!”

The increasing red rising up the cheeks of Lady Ordelia made her skin look warmer. She looped her rigid arms together but the grin plastered over her face betrayed her. “I honestly feel so lucky to have him.”

Hilda was happy for her. The love Lysithea felt for her husband was radiating even after three years of marriage.

“So what about you, Hilda? Had a good time with Cyril recently?”

Hilda froze. Lysithea’s grin turned from a shy bride ravishing the compliments to that of a snarky child who caught their parent in a contradiction. But she forgot that she was speaking with Hilda; if she dared ensnare her in a trap, she’d respond by walking straight at it and bluff indifference. “Oh, you mean the night before I left Garreg Mach? I would not want to bore you with the details, but I’m sure whatever you’ve heard is true.”

Lysithea raised a brow. “Is that so? I didn’t hear anything. Do tell.”

 _And that was for a reason._ The irritation furled in her chest. “Well, if you didn’t hear anything, then there wasn’t anything worthwhile to hear. You should be a dear and not nose in other people’s affairs.”

“Oh, someone’s sounding defensive.” Lysithea could be so feisty sometimes. “Let me ask you this, then: I had some expectations in how Cyril would look like the next day, but I did not expect him to look _broken_. I have never seen him so exhausted, and we both know that means a lot. What. Did. You. Do?”

Any other woman would shrivel back against that piercing glare, but Hilda stared back with matching fire. “That is none of your business.”

“Oh, it is, especially if my best friend is hurt because of you, Hilda.”

Hilda folded her arms, her nails biting into her biceps. “Well, I’m flattered that you think I hold that much power over him, but how can you say that for sure?”

“Hilda-,” Lysithea’s brows curled up, the faint sound of pity seeping into her voice. “You can’t be foolish enough to _not_ have noticed how he looks at you.”

How could she not? Her throat tightened up. It was never this hard to move on from a breakup with any of her exes, including Caspar. But there was nothing she could do at this point. She had made a choice that night and had to accept the consequence.

“I have nothing more to say that would answer your question.”

Lysithea’s eyes travelled over hers, studying her furiously like a textbook that had information hidden in the depths of a footnote. Hilda smiled, a protective wall she built to hide the remorse within.

“Lady Ordelia!”

A knight ran over to inform Lysithea that the captains had been summoned. The next step had been re-evaluated with the sudden discourse with the wandering beast, so Seteth wanted to discuss how the knights were to move at this point. Before leaving, Lysithea turned back with concern and annoyance conflicting in her eyes.

“I don’t know why you’re being so weird about this, but I hope that you know what you’re doing, Hilda.”

The white haired woman followed after the knight, leaving Hilda alone to drop her guard. Her idling invited glares from the passerby, but she shrugged them off. She was a rescued citizen, she deserved some rest. Having said that, the guilt Lysithea had plagued her with began to chew in. She needed to do something to shift her focus to something practical. 

She sighed. It was time to speak with Byleth. Hilda peered at the mountains that overlooked them close by. They weren’t too far from the church, so she could ask for a quick flight back.

Hilda hopped off to the barracks and beguiled the youngest squire to give her a ride. He pulled a wyvern over while keeping his scrawny chest puffed up, but any words that came out stumbled as clumsily as his feet when she closed in to the saddle. He maintained a nervous distance when he climbed after her, to which Hilda couldn’t help but curl her lips up in amusement.

The boy was around the same age as Cyril when they first interacted, but that was where the similarities ended. When Hilda was forced to learn to ride a wyvern for her class progression, Byleth referred her to Cyril, who had already flown routinely around the monastery at that point. Hilda first squirmed at that group task, since she already dealt with his sharp tongue from their prior routine chores, but this time he surprisingly softened in his instructions. He was quiet and focused, and there was even a spark in his eyes when he explained the basics to her during their skywatch duty. It must have been the wyverns that charmed the boy. Having never ridden them, she needed assistance with every little step, and he never berated her. She used to see him as a brute draft horse that looked straight ahead when ploughing through the field, pushing aside any distractions without hesitation… but it was then that she had to be reminded that they too were gentle by nature.

She still remembered the end of that day when they returned to the stables past sunset. Hilda was ready to apologize for slowing them down, but Cyril held her arm for the first time and reassured her that she did well. She gladly accepted the escape of blame, but she was surprised by how… _happy_ he looked. He even told her that he enjoyed their ride together. Hilda had found him peculiar before because of his golden-brown skin and insightful point of view, but it was then she realized that there were more peculiarities to pick apart. 

She awoke from her daydream when they landed at the balcony of the church. Hilda slipped off the wyvern and gazed past the flower garden into the wide room. Byleth was sitting at the edge of her bed with papers strewn around her feet, her hair haggard, the collars stretched back, and most devastatingly the bed sheet was covered in wine stains. Byleth looked up, and at the instant recognition she shot up and ran for Hilda.

“You’re okay!”

“Oof!” Hilda was thrown into a tight embrace. Byleth’s grip was strong, as if afraid that she’d lose Hilda to the lightest movement of the wind. “Yeah, I’m okay! Can you let go?”

“Sorry,” Byleth quickly said and pulled back. The shadows under her eye were prominent. Most of the queen adornment that strung around her ears and coat were loosely dangling while she studied Hilda. “And I’m so sorry that you got caught in this mess. I got the message from your parents just now that Those Who Slither in The Dark captured you. I didn’t predict that they would go after you. It was all my fault-“

“Byleth, I’m alright, see?” Hilda placed her palms on her former teacher’s cheeks. “You forget that there’s a reason why you trusted me to go out there. It’s me who we’re dealing with!”

Byleth released a sigh that seeped into a chuckle. “You’re right. How _did_ you escape?”

Hilda gave her a wink. “I had a little help from Marianne’s ancestors.”

The squire who sat at the balcony quickly noted that the two wanted privacy and flew off. Hilda repeated her story for a second time that day; Byleth’s reactions were a mirror to that of Seteth’s during the revelation that a Creature was summoned by the enemy, but it was also matched with a determined look as she thinned her lips.

“Well that confirms my suspicion.”

“And what is that?”

“Let me start from the beginning. We heard of walking corpses attacking villages, survivors bizarrely claiming that the corpses were wearing the faces of their fallen loved ones, and in our search we found that their graves were desecrated. So we decided to check our tombs and couldn’t locate a handful of Crests. And then Baron Dominic was attacked, both Annette, her uncle and Crusher disappeared without a trace and a beast appeared and razed through their barony. Based on that it was clear that Crests and the weapons were a target so I forwarded the theory to Lorenz, who in turn warned all the nobles in the east and north. I also had Dorothea and Shamir use their networks to leach out suspects and imperial loyalists in the Adrestrian Empire. And now here you are with your findings of their thirst for Freikugel. It seems to me that Those Who Slither in The Dark are looking for two things at least: The Heroes Relics and the bodies of Crest bearers, regardless of whether they’re alive or buried, to create monstrosities.”

Hilda tapped her chin. “But this Creature looked quite different from the Wandering Beast we defeated ten years ago.”

Byleth sat back down on her bed and folded her hands into each other. “Given your description of it it’s clearly not fully alive, and it matches the traits of the walking corpses that I mentioned. As for the existence of the Creature itself, you mentioned dragon-like features. I wonder...”

Hilda shifted while ruminating on the information. If necromancy was their method to make a comeback, they could just revive all the corpses of this war-fested land. But how feasible was that? The bodies of Nemesis and the Ten Elites were thrown into a pit and burned off after they had been defeated to ensure there wouldn’t be a repeat of such a devastating battle. Ah, is that why they were seeking for the corpses of Crest bearers? To focus their resources on individuals with higher power? It made sense then why they were eager to spoke the fires for an imperial uprising, as the territories and the churches would spread their defenses thin to quell it and in turn expose the tombs for easier raids. But after Hilda and Cyril interfered with their conspiracy, Those Who Slither in The Dark had gaps in their network that started to unweave their tightly knit plan. It appeared that they were driven into a corner and decided they had no other way than to kidnap Hilda, a risk that had cost them their reveal and Periander.

“Do you think they’ll be making a move soon? It sounds to me like they have no realistic means to do what you assume they’ll do.”

Byleth thought about it for a bit. “These people had waited decades to unfold their plans using Edelgard. They would cower back from the loss and recuperate, waiting for a time when the tides shift to climb back out. But if they are desperate enough they could stake all their pieces into this one final move.

“But I’m done reacting. I have a counterplan already in the move and your information will help hitting them at their source. We will scour out the ones hiding and capture them.” Byleth stood up and unclasped the overly adorned cape. She strutted toward the closet and pulled out the familiar grey coat, tugged her arm through the slits of the sleeves and briskly tied her hair up.

“I will interrogate this Periander personally. I will make sure that this war that’s been lurking in the shadows will be over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaa this one was more of a recovery chapter for Hilda and ended up kind of dense plot wise, but I tried to ease it up with little sassy talk with Lys.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Freikugel is found

The blue haired man made a scruff entrance and saluted Marianne and Cyril with a wide grin. It was only after Marianne’s greeting that Cyril recognized him as one of the old classmates. He gave him a nod, but Caspar already turned away to show Marianne the letter that was stamped by Goneril. She quietly read it over while Caspar chatted with the mercenaries, so Cyril slouched back into his seat to busy himself with the task he was pulled away from earlier, but he could hardly ignore the warmaster’s booming voice as he told his story.

Caspar explained that just as he was leaving Fodlan’s Locket, Holst assigned him a secret mission in which he was to find the hidden cave and retrieve a personal treasure, so he took a rest at the tavern in the nearby village before seeking it out. The mercenary was gathering intelligence there at the time, instantly recognizing each other as former classmates and immediately engaged in an illustrious conversation. When they discovered the overlap in their assignment mission, the mercenary brought him over to exchange information.

Cyril frowned. So Caspar was part of Holst’s crew. “Did you see Hilda?”

“Huh?” Caspar turned to Cyril. His grin was still plastered over his face, but stiffened with an underlying coldness. “Yeah, I did. What gives?”

“You didn’t stop them?”

That brought a frown out of Caspar. “What are you talking about?”

Cyril snapped an arrow between his fingers. That man had no idea that Holst’s sister was kidnapped. He was seething through his teeth, ready to berate him for letting Hilda get kidnapped under his watch, but he stifled his breath when Marianne shifted to return the letter to Caspar. No, he would not throw a fit.

Caspar turned to her questioningly and she quickly brought him up to speed. He blanched, realizing that Hilda disappeared mere minutes after he disembarked from the fortress. Caspar squeezed his eye shut, meditating to withhold himself from blindly chasing an unknown kidnapper, then stared at Marianne with a determined look.

“I’ll help you on the rescue mission. Holst sent me to collect Freikugel, but her safety takes priority.”

“Agreed.” Marianne nodded. “Let us prepare and set out for the cave.”

\+ + + 

Even though two of the three mercenaries were still out investigating, they began climbing the mountain range through the arched pathway steering through the rocks. The journey was arduous; the recent rainfall made the surface slippery, and the smooth rocks left little rigidity for their footsteps. The starlight covered by the clouds was of little condolence as well, but it also meant that any enemies would have trouble spotting them.

Marianne huffed and stopped at a flat surface where the ground cracked into a crevice. She crouched low and casted a faint light. A shimmering, pink reflection bounced back, and she shouted for the mercenaries to come back to join them.

“When we first came here we wanted to make sure that we can find a way back to the cave, so Hilda hid her first earring as a marker,” Marianne explained as the mercenary went ahead to scope the area uphill for enemies.

“I guess that’s one way to do it. Great work, Marianne!” Caspar said. He searched the area but couldn’t find an obvious entrance. “So how do we get in?”

Cyril followed the direction of the shimmer and looked up the cliff. “Is it that over there?”

Marianne nodded and guided them up the cliff where the thick roots gated the opening. Forming a single line they climbed in, coming out into a vast underground dwelling. A deep echo filled the space before the smell of salt hit Cyril. The flimsy lamps that Marianne finally lit revealed white stalactites gripping the ceiling of this wide cavern, which poured drips of clear water into the fragmented pools across the floor. There were worn out furniture attached to the walls layered with crusted salt. Molded books and tools laid in piles as if their entire purpose was to remind one of the frailty of skills and knowledge if left unattended.

“This cavern used to be a hideout for wanderers who sought refuge from the warren state at the border,” Marianne explained. “After the locket was built it was harder for people to travel across the wall, and it was slowly forgotten by the travellers. Holst used to come here as a child and later brought Hilda here as well. It was their secret playground.”

Caspar wandered along the edges and eventually bumped into the large axe. He picked it up and clamored over the sheer size, weighing it carefully against his hands while awing over the pulsing tendons webbing the head. While the rattle continued, Marianne glanced back at the entrance nervously.

“What’s wrong, Marianne?” Cyril asked.

She tugged at her sleeve. “I don’t feel anyone else’s presence. What if Hilda isn’t here after all?”

He swallowed empty air. Her worries confirmed his deepest fear too. They had no strong lead, only presumptions that they chased after like headless chicken, but with no other pathway to follow, they were running in an endless circle.

“Maybe you can explain why you think they were here first.” Caspar tapped his foot and eyed the cave entrance. “If we look at all the clues we might be able to figure out where to find them.”

Marianne turned to the entrance as well, recollecting all information that suggested they’d come here. “Those Who Slither in The Dark had kidnapped Hilda. They left her parents in exchange for her because she offered to take them to Freikugel.”

“But it’s still here, so she clearly didn’t do that,” Cyril muttered and crossed his arms. “What if she took them to a different location?”

Marianne widened her eyes. “Oh, no…do you think she may have lied to them? That would be dangerous for her, especially once they discover they’d been tricked!”

“But she knows full well what they are capable of. And she would risk her life to stop them,” Cyril stared back.

“That’s true,” Caspar nodded. There was little to debate since all three of them knew Hilda well enough that they saw through her façade of indifference. “But we still don’t know where she would be.”

“Let us return to the meeting point then and wait for the other two mercenaries. Maybe they have collected some new information, maybe even the enemy’s hideout,” Marianne suggested.

“That’s great!” Caspar punched the air. “If they found a hideout we can bring the battle to them!”

“We still need to hear what they have to say,” Cyril said flatly.

Marianne nodded. “Yes, we cannot be hasty. Seeing that Freikugel is safe, we should keep it with us in case Those Who Slither in The Dark do end up searching for it. Caspar, will you take it to Hilda’s brother?”

He nodded. “I will, but as I said, I will not leave until I know that Hilda’s safe and sound.”

With the lack of results in the hidden cave they climbed their way out. The mercenary poked out from the cliff above them and dropped a head. It was a grey skinned woman, mouth agape with shock, splattering onto the rocks in front of them. Caspar shrieked and kicked it off the mountain, and it bounced its way down.

“They were here, but she seemed to have been alone,” the mercenary said as he dropped down. “All she gaggled about was that her brethren went off to kidnap Hilda, and that she’d take care of any suspicious activity. She was pathetically weak though, so my guess is her team simply tried to get rid of the dead weight by making up the task. Ironic that she stood right over the relic and didn’t know, eh?”

“There was no need to execute her,” Marianne said sternly.

The mercenary shrugged. “She was noisy.”

Cyril tuned him off and they returned to the hut just as twilight split the morning sky from the dark. The second mercenary was waiting for them and reported that outside of a few odd fellows here and there that no suspicious people were around. The waiting game began at that point for the third mercenary to arrive, hoping that there were more vital details he’d stumble into.

Caspar engaged the mercenaries in sparring sessions, hopping and shouting in the fields under the trees with bellowing laughter that rejuvenated the men with a new set of energy. Marianne giggled as she watched the tumult, but Cyril decided to venture into the forest to look for game. He wasn’t one who was easily impressed with noisy crowds except when it came to people he was comfortable with, and the unease crept up the longer they idled. He shook his head, reminding himself that he had to believe in Marianne and her men to pull the strings right. He had difficulty sifting through the grounds for rodents with the dry pine needles crunching under his steps, and unable to find signs of any herbivores residing in the area he eventually returned with berries instead.

Cyril bumped straight into Caspar, who had noticed his redaction from the others and followed him to the ledge. He advertised a bruise on his chin that he bought with the fresh marks of dirt on his armour. “Yo, why don’t we have a fight?”

Cyril frowned. What was up with that guy? “No. We shouldn’t be wasting our breath when we could be going to battle at any moment.”

The hand that Caspar reached out with sulkily moved back to run through his hair instead. “C’mon, it’s just a quick fight though, no big deal.”

Cyril didn’t care. Why did so many people have such a hard time respecting his space? “Move.”

“Dude, there’s no need to be so gruff about it. You look like you need to blow off some steam, and what better way to do that than with a fight?”

Cyril marched past him into the open space. “That might work for you, but I’d rather do something more useful than pegging for fights.”

“Sheesh, you’re so boring.”

A berry fell off the bag as he turned to him. “Look, Caspar, I just wanna save Hilda. It’s already bad that I have to wait around when I know she’s in danger. I don’t need ya to annoy me with your challenges just because ya need to validate your strength with other men.”

Caspar threw his head back with laughter, which got Cyril to raise a brow in confusion. He continued laughing while shaking his hands as if ridding it of water. “Oh, I like you!”

A fist shot straight at Cyril with no forewarning. It was only because of the distance that Cyril was able to dodge the blow, and he quickly jumped back to maintain that length as Caspar followed up with the other fist. Caspar shouted and sprung forward, pressuring Cyril by closing into his space with continuous jabs until he was forced to lift his forearms to block the attacks.

“C’mon, Cyril, I know you can do better than that!”

Caspar was relentless. The bones in Cyril’s arms were rattling. Realizing he couldn’t keep it up, he dropped to his knees and swiped at his legs, but Caspar foresaw it easily enough and jumped over it. Cyril quickly charged at him mid-air and threw him down with his entire body. Caspar was much larger, so he had to put his entire weight on him so he couldn’t wrestle his way out.

“Will you… shut up now?” Cyril grunted through clenched teeth trying to bear the pummeling at his sides. Caspar eventually dropped his arms to the sides in huffs.

“Fine, I yield!” Caspar shouted.

Cyril kept him pinned though. “Ya won’t bother me if I let go right?”

The man under him studied him for a bit while he recollected his breath. His bright blue eyes merely tilted in amusement. “Fine, I won’t pester you to a fight.”

Cyril threw a yelp when Caspar broke through his grip and threw him over his shoulder like a sack while he got up. “But I do wanna be friends with you. Feels like I missed a chance to do that back in the days.”

The baffles were stuck in his throat when Caspar grinningly brushed the dirt off his knees. “Sorry if I got you uncomfortable. It seems we still have to wait a bit until the informant arrives, so there’s no need to wring our brains with worry. It’s Hilda we’re talking about after all. Why don’t we catch up?”

Cyril sloped his mouth to the side. He made fair points, but he was more irritated by how easily he was played. “Fine.”

Satisfied with the exchange, Caspar dropped him to the ground. They all returned to hide in the hut when the morning was bright and the nearby villagers began drifting out into the fields. The former students of Garreg Mach relaxed once Marianne enforced the magical barrier and indulged themselves with stories of the five years since their separation. The memories of mishaps and quirky individuals they met over time were a worthwhile means to distract themselves from the ominous minutes passing by. But when Caspar’s turn began he enraptured everyone’s attention so effortlessly that they completely escaped time’s attention. They listened to his entire journey from his merchant ventures across Fodlan with Raphael to his exotic adventures in Morfis. He eventually turned to the recent events in which he waltzed into Holtz’s home and challenged him to battle. What was supposed to be so grand that it’d be retold in poems became a dubious sequence of stunts that ended with Caspar dangling on the fortress side like a chrysalis on a thread and confusing the wyvern that hovered in swarms around him. Caspar retold the story with such colourful animation that even Cyril laughed.

The last mercenary still hadn’t arrived. They decided that if he didn’t arrive by the time the large pine’s shadow casted over the hut, they’d drop the mission and meet with the knights at Gloucester. They layered the last of their breads with butter and dried meat and chewed through while Marianne explained her idea to expand the political alliance system to the entirety of Fodlan, with one ruler governing them all. She formed some theories with Lady Byleth but stumbled on how to realistically persuade leaders habituated to the kingdom and empire. Caspar reflected and retold how in Morfis the tribes lived isolated from one another, and they were content in that way. The mercenaries shrugged off the entire topic with no interest whatsoever. Cyril remembered how Ashe contemplated about a voting system where the nobles brought forward the worries of their people and had furiously sent letters to Fhirdiad, but he always sulked next to the fireplace after the response arrived.

Everyone turned to him with curiosity. Cyril swallowed his last bite. “Even if Fodlan is one country, it’s not like it’s all the same. Ya can’t expect one rule to fit everyone.”

Thinking about it, he vaguely remembered the politics in Almyra from the adults badgering in his village. It was a country large enough it could swallow Fodlan whole if it were a beast, and they broke off in imaginary states that were all ruled by one king. It wasn’t any better off than this country, as the king allowed wreckages to form in villages and towns he bore no interest in, and with a vast land where barren soil was as large as the populace, that meant there were many who tolled those woes.

Cyril wiped his mouth and continued. “You’ll need leaders everywhere so they can first hand see what the problems are. A ruler who doesn’t know what everyone’s life is like cannot truly know how to help ‘em.”

“Agreed. I have nothing against our professor, but she won’t be around forever.” Caspar chimed in. “All’s good as long as the leader cares, but who can guarantee what the next one is like?”

“So you’re suggesting that the archbishop should not be the one to oversee them all.” Marianne tugged at her skirt. “I-I suppose that was obvious when not everyone agreed that the church should decide their lives, especially since that was the foundation that led to the war.”

Cyril twitched. He disagreed with those who attacked Lady Rhea, but that was not the point. “No, you’re not wrong. But what I’m saying is that too many of the rulers are just… nobles,” Cyril said. “I think Ashe is a great leader and that is because he knows how the simple folk lived before he was raised by Lord Lonato. So what I’m saying is that- I dunno – maybe have more people like Ashe.”

Caspar hummed. “I guess the idea of having an alliance for the entirety of Fodlan makes sense. If leaders from all sides come together it’d seem fair. So, if you have leaders also chosen by the commoners along with the nobles, there’d be more equal footing on all sides that the ruler will hear.”

The mercenaries scoffed at the idea. They commented that there would never be equal footing as long as someone had more coin than others. Marianne turned to them “You are right, there will be always those who corrupt, so we need countermeasures to keep the leaders in check. Otherwise all this effort would be in vain, and the rules established as a result of the war would just be overturned.”

It was hard to persuade those whose perspectives were set, and their dismissive ‘whatever’ made clear of that. Marianne apologized for perusing them into a discussion they didn’t ask for. Caspar waved off the apology.

“C’mon, there’s nothing wrong with asking for advice!”

Marianne nodded. “I suppose that’s true. I had discussed this only with the professor and a close circle in Deirdru because everyone had been occupied with recovering from the war. I suppose I should reach out to more people.”

Cyril perked. “Wait, you haven’t discussed this with Ashe yet?”

Marianne raised her brows. “N-no… I didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him.”

“You should definitely do it. He has had similar ideas to yours!”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh, is that so? That does sound promising. Yes, I will do it as soon as we’re back in Gloucester then.”

Cyril grinned with hope that Ashe gained political support with his endeavours, but then latterly with excitement when he realized that he set an opening for Ashe to make a move _._

Caspar licked the last bit of butter off his mouth and wiped the crumbs off his hands. Marianne smiled. “Thank you for your thoughts. I haven’t had many people I could personally discuss this with, even with Hilda. She is very supportive and would help me in my work with her connections, but she didn’t really want to get involved with the politics themselves, so I’m glad she has good friends like you.”

The two men dumped by Hilda shifted uneasily. The mercenaries picked up on their rigidity and mockingly called them out for not being polite enough to respond her gratitude, to which Caspar nervously clasped the back of his head.

“Hey, it’s no problem! You know you can always rely on me for any help!”

Cyril merely nodded but the mercenaries wouldn’t have it. They pushed him to say a response and jabbed him at the sides. Cyril grunted in frustration and shouted at them to leave him alone. Marianne tried to ease them off, but they were hollering in amusement.

“I mean, c’mon, this kid needs to show some politeness! You’d have figured cleaning up the floors in Garreg Mach would have rubbed that rudeness off of him, but it’s clearly an Almyran trait if he can’t even respond to a nice thank you!”

“Shut up!” Cyril shouted.

“I’m just telling the truth! I mean, why are you even here? It’s not like you even hung out with any of us when we were students!”

“Actually, he was often around Hilda, remember?”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re rescuing her! You two have been rutting-“

There were blurs passing by Cyril and their grips loosened from his shoulders. Caspar massaged his knuckles. “You two need to rest and think about what shit you spew out.”

He pulled Cyril up and Marianne shot up teary eyed and apologized for creating this mess. Cyril didn’t say anything. He couldn’t stand the idea that people still reduced Hilda to a sex object- if Caspar hadn’t been faster with his fists, he would have attacked them instead.

Caspar patted his back with concern. “You know we don’t think of you that way, right?”

“Yeah.” Cyril rolled his shoulders and headed to the entrance. He could never escape the comments that reminded him of the difference in their heritage, whether they were in the academy, the church, or at House Gaspard. He had accepted early on that he would always be seen as the ‘other’ merely because of his skin tone, so the racial insult didn’t even register until Caspar pointed it out. 

He stared at the landscape visible through the barrier when he heard the groans from the mercenaries as they recovered from the hit. Cyril turned back to them with a finger pointed to the outside.

“Looks like the last guy’s finally here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, for a fanfic that's supposed to focus on Cyril and Hilda (and Explicit for that matter) there's quite a lot of non-pairing support happening! Aaah Gotta Slap another picture on to make up for it!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda makes plans

Hilda felt a spiteful glee at the sight of Periander dredged in the mud. He was shouting in a secret language that was easily understood to be profane and the guard struck him into the dirt with the butt of his lance. The guard reared back at the arrival of Byleth, who knelt over the hostage with feline curiosity. Periander directed his glare at Hilda while she was interrogating him, as if blaming her for his ruin would somehow resolve him from his state. It was pathetic. Hilda tipped one leg behind the other and smiled back.

At some point she had enough of his dodgy answers, and Byleth tugged his chin with her long, dainty finger so he faced her. “Now, now, I know you have much to tell Lady Goneril, but I want to exchange a few words as well. After all, I am curious how you managed to create such a large monster back in the forest.”

“There is nothing worth telling you, you wench.”

“I suppose…” Byleth tapped his chin and hummed, as if debating what to do. “Looking at our finding, it does look like very odd magic, so it must be quite unique if you only shown it now. I only knew Strabo to be able to wield that kind of magic, so if you performed it here as well... Has he been passing his teachings to you?”

His eyes widened. “How do you know him?”

“Surprised? For a group who had been conspiring against me, Strabo and I have surprisingly many common interests, so I’ve housed him to learn more about your kin,” Byleth answered sincerely enough. Byleth’s back curl predatorily, the former mercenary slowly prowling out of the lordly shell.

Periander’s rough voice sputtered from the intimidation. “There is no way that you, who’s so vile they’d destroy our entire civilization, would suddenly grow interest in us.”

“See, this is where your misconception is showing. I am interested to learn the truth of this land’s past. You yourself may not have shared the knowledge with us, but others do oblige.”

“There is no way Strabo would willingly side with you!” Periander shouted.

Byleth slowly traced his jaw. “…Who said anything about ‘willingly’?”

His mouth trembled as she playfully loosened her fingers and travelled them up the side of his face. He was mumbling a question, but she pretended to be busy inspecting the sweat dripping from his pores to stretch the silence and tear at his anxiety.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!”

She stopped her finger. “Hmm. I don’t think I should just tell you; what would I gain out of it? Oh, I know!” She pulled her hands back. “There was this one book he mentioned that I always wanted to read. Why don’t you tell me where his study is?”

Periander paled, his mouth stretched in confusion. “If he hasn’t told it to you, then I won’t either.”

“So there is a separate study,” Byleth got up. “Well, I just want to build a world where people have no need to die, so any knowledge would be nourishing. But if you know the location, why would I need Strabo? Hmm…I suppose I could ask the same of you; after all, if I told Strabo I have you, he might talk to save himself. That could work, he had been very talkative already.

“Something to think about, Periander.” She nudged at Hilda to follow and they walked away from the shouting hostage who cursed with wretched anger. Byleth instructed the guard to keep him tied under the sunglare and to place water and bread in his sight at a distance that’s barely within reach.

Once he was out of hearing range Hilda asked who Strabo was. Byleth explained that he was one of the scholars mentioned in the surviving scrolls recovered from Nemesis’ crypts. She figured he must have concocted a spell that made sure that the crypt that bound the thousand year old bandit would be released if they lost the battle and ravage the nation.

“Wait, what do you mean, you ‘figured’? Did he not explain when he told you about himself?”

Byleth glanced at her and continued walking. “No. I never met him.”

Hilda had to stop for a moment. So she created a prisoner’s dilemma with a hypothetical second prisoner? If that wasn’t a convincing bluff, she didn’t know what was.

Byleth walked no farther than the fallen log near a ditch before she sat down, crossed her legs, and smiled at the dumbfounded Hilda.

“Hilda, why don’t you sit down?” Hilda eyed the glistening bark and decided against it. What was the purpose of being here? The darkened blue hair caught the shimmering speckles passing through the gaps in the tree crowns, bouncing between blues and greens as the leaves rustled to the quiet melody of the wind. Byleth may be the epitome of a silent forest, but Hilda would not tolerate it unless she chirped in with her own notes.

“Byleth, you can’t expect me to just wait around until you give me an answer.” 

Byleth breathed in the fresh air. “Give it time. He’ll call us.”

So that’s what it was. A turn of endurance to see whose wit outshone the other. Hilda was dubious that Periander would break so quickly, especially as he seemed to agonize over squandered missions to an absurd degree.

“Did Holst have a chance to read the letter?”

Hilda looked at her. “Yes, I saw him read it before I got separated.”

She blinked with her big teal eyes. “So he hasn’t spoken with you about it yet?”

She shook her head. “No. Do I need to know something?”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter since you’re not at your home. Don’t worry about it.” Byleth switched her legs over the other. “Anyway, I know you hadn’t had much time to contemplate, but I’m curious what your thoughts are on our last discussion at tea time,” Byleth suddenly began, disrupting her thoughts. Hilda remembered that they left their academy discussion on hold with no foregone conclusion. Luring her first students in was easy enough with the lineup of starring professors as bait, but keeping them in the infant school required a persistent illusion of a grand plan. The courses abided to a basic adaptation of what all Leicester nobles covered in the past, but as the students slowly cleared through them it became dire to find supplements for the seniors.

“Some of my oldest students requested to bring their personal teachers in for the more advanced lessons, and I found that had worked so far. But with each year it’d become trickier if we don’t have consistency. What could I roll in that would make us stand out?”

Byleth mulled over that. “I would suggest that you speak with them and see what they are looking for. As I’ve said before, if it was something they could easily learn in Garreg Mach, the Magical Academy, or the School of Arts, they should just be sent over there. But what about those who want something else?”

Hilda considered what her students complained about and Byleth mention of implementing her interest into it. How would jewelry be something educational? It’d make little sense for so many to learn its craft without diluting Fodlan with one common skillset. The jewelry may differ in designs, especially when you considered the range of audience it could be marketed to, and infusing them with fortifying magic could make it useful for battle, but would that be diverse enough for students to garner interest?

_“The miners came all the time to collect the rocks and traded them with merchants and artisans.”_

Hilda stopped and lined her chin with her hand. Cyril made a good point with sourcing the gems. Locating veins and uncut gems would be needed if there were more artisans to be born from her school. Then there were miners, lapidaries and gem cutters, and traders who knew how to exchange these goods, whether they were raw and rugged or polished and ready.

Her eyes sparkled as she realized that her idea was becoming feasible. She flipped the finger from her jaw to point at Byleth. “Byleth, I will bring you students who will be talented enough to forge an entirely new economy in Fodlan. We will put us in the forefront in jewelry trades.”

Hilda smiled smugly at her and began outlining her idea of an artisan academy, describing how the craft would be taught and trained to master every step from accessing the raw material to its final product. With a plan that sprung up so suddenly, it was of course in need of clearing out wrinkles, but the confidence that emanated from Hilda immediately captured the archbishop’s gallant ears.

Byleth inspected the rugged log she sat on as she calculated the proposition. She eventually nodded, striking back with the pleased round eyes that Hilda recognized from her examinations to usually follow up with praise. “That is a marvelous idea, Hilda. Not only does it tap your strength, but it also considers a wide range of skill. It could also work in our mission in tearing down the walls with other nations; if we have students and teachers from other lands we would have a way to share their culture.”

That would be a daunting task in itself, as Hilda had to previously jump hurdles to bring in the handful of Almyran nobles alone. But the idea of seeing what designs the people of Sreng, Dagda, Albinea and Morfis could show made her curious. Byleth herself had attempted in reaching out to them with varying successes, but with their combined effort they could carve out a door to them.

It’d be best to start with the one she already built a foundation on. Having an ambassador who could represent her academy and perfectly communicate with the Almyrans was essential. Claude was far too busy to detail the miniscule tasks, and Holst had only been fine when it came to the military side. She needed someone as the ambassador, but who?

Hilda trickled her thoughts out that eventually poured out in a rush of rambles. Byleth sat by and patiently watched her process her thoughts, her green eyes like the full moon that encouragingly pulled her ideas out, tugging Hilda into a direction where she could clearly see the perfect candidate to reel in. Stubborn as she was though, she continued talking and talking around the person to see if there were others with qualifying traits. It was an irrational struggle to ebb away from the obvious choice, but Byleth’s swiftly rejected all of her weak arguments, and with each rejection Hilda slowly seeped into the alluring idea of choosing him.

Cyril, oh, Cyril. He was gone for five years, and now he seemed to be everywhere in her life. He was versatile with his craft and quick to learn the trades, and most importantly, he could speak Almyran. Even if he disliked the violent part of the culture, he still appreciated his homeland for its rich beauty, and this opportunity would let him reconnect to that. And even if he would reject the proposition itself, it’d allow her to face him once more; to apologize for her flimsy departure in the monastery’s hallways, and to see if her heart would hammer as hardly as it was just thinking about him.

“In terms of an Almyran ambassador, would you allow me to borrow Cyril for that task?” Hilda eventually asked as neutrally as possible.

Byleth grinned. “I wish I could, but it seems he returned to his role as House Gaspard’s advisor. There are rumours that he was last spotted at Gloucester.”

Hilda batted her pretty eyes. To think she just barely missed him. “I’m surprised he’s moving so easily between roles. Is that how the Knights of Seiros operate?”

“For him at least – seems he does this often enough that his commander shrugs it off.”

“Oh.” Hilda fidgeted her skirt. How would she be able to reach him if he hopped around like a rabbit zigzagging across the field? She could try contacting House Gaspard, but that’d come off as inconsiderate when she never spoke with Ashe in the past.

She wrung at the hem of her dress in annoyance when she spotted a tear in its fabric. If only she wasn’t so indecisive about Cyril, she might have been able to spend more time with him at the monastery, and then he might have decided to join her on her way back home. Alas, she was hesitant about something, even now when she regretted the hurt she inflicted on him. She wanted him, but she was afraid. She hated it. She was despicable. This would only continue the longer she wondered. She had to see him. She had to if she wanted to stop her unsightly behavior from embarrassing her further. 

Byleth watched Hilda tug at the loose string and had to stop her before she damaged the lining. “You know, Hilda, we’re heading over to Gloucester as well. The Knights of Seiros here are the first reinforcements to help defend against Those Who Slither in The Dark that we suspect are striking there.” 

Hilda eyed the emerald stone fixed on the ring on Byleth’s finger, the silver band shining with fresh polish against the calloused skin it was wrapped around. Hilda curled her own fingers in.

“I suggest you speak with Lysithea, she would surely take you there with her teleportation magic. And as you are a crest-bearer and already been targeted, I would suggest you stay under the protection of Gloucestor for the prolonged time.”

Hilda nodded at the alignment of their plans. Let her be the damsel to quiver in the aftermath of the kidnap. With the letter on its way to her family, the Goneril family was sure to send their army of vengeance to tear down the grey skinned fools while she found haven for herself.

A knight rushed by to inform that Periander wanted to continue the interrogation. Byleth’s smirk appeared more conniving with the clouds casting a shadow over her.

They returned to the lone mage who mustered a brave face. “I have a deal with you, and only you, Fallen Star.”

Byleth agreed with no hesitation and shooed everyone off. Hilda happily obliged – Periander’s voice only provoked her to crush his trachea, so the further away she was, the more effective Byleth would be with her interrogation.

Overhead were the first fliers setting for their flight. Hilda barely noticed the annoyed shouts when she pushed the crowds aside to get away. There was an unnoted panic rising in her chest at the thought that Cyril was finally within reach. Her senses, as if impatiently waiting for his touch, remembered the feeling of his arms on her skin. 

“ _A partner like you never kept me calm.”_

He had looked at her with hypnotized eyes. Carnelian eyes. She suddenly remembered when she assembled a pair of earrings with vivid orange gems and thick copper wires coated in rose gold. She produced it over the course of one week after she woke up with a sudden surge of inspiration during their final year of the war – but she didn’t realize until now that it was his eyes that blessed her with the piece.

Hilda had been walking straight onto the clearing where the final tents were broken down. She huffed through her nose and shook her head. Why was she making a big deal? She had to get a handle of herself and remember how she treated him. She had to prepare herself for cold eyes. It wasn’t as if it was a big loss if he rejected her. He wasn’t that amazing. He was handsome, sure, but his strictness and relentless strive to work could be _so_ tiring to handle, especially when _she_ was forced to help. Cyril would often ignore her to get work done, and when he did open his mouth, it was to scold her.

That’s right. The two of them were incompatible. She was sure their time together would spiral down into bickering, especially once their different values came out front. Hilda wanted a leisurely life and work on her newly founded school; she had no time to sweeten his future. What would he even want?

“What are you doing here, Hilda?”

Hilda turned to find Lysithea looking over her shoulder.

Oh, this girl appeared on cue.

“Lysithea, what does Cyril want to do with his future?” Hilda asked immediately. She was immune to the scrutinizing eyes that squinted at the sudden question.

“Where did this come from?”

“Never mind.” Hilda huffed again. What did it matter what his goals were? Speculations were throwing her into a spiral.

“Cyril said he wanted to help people.”

That was surprising, yet not at all. Lysithea shrugged at Hilda’s querying look. “When he saw how he was able to make a difference as a knight and advisor he began working more with labour that alleviated the work for the common folk. Cyril may not be good with speaking with people, but it doesn’t mean that he hates them.”

“So he wishes to be a public servant.”

“You can say that. So why the question?”

“It’s nothing. I was just curious after catching up with him.”

“You must also be curious if he’d be a potential partner.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “It was one day, Lysithea.”

“And years of friendship built up to that moment. Hilda, why are you so adamantly against it?” Lysithea crossed her arms. The workers lined up behind their commander were patiently waiting for a word, but when Lysithea turned and instructed them to go ahead, they shuffled off to assist the other crew.

“Because I’m not simple enough to assume that friendship equates to a marriage.” Hilda remembered that easily enough: Whenever a male classmate showed a sign of affection, she leapt for it by writing a letter about them to her brother. Each time she giddied in delight when Holst responded gratifyingly, only to be left single at the final feast of victory. Raphael chose his family company over her; Lorenz proposed to Lysithea with a passionate speech; and Claude chose his father country…and Byleth. She felt alone with other men who only saw her as a second to another. Why would Cyril be any different?

“What’s wrong with marrying a friend?” Lysithea asked.

“There is nothing wrong with it. It just doesn’t guarantee a happy future.”

Lysithea threw up her hands in frustration. “Ugh, you can be so stubborn sometimes! Instead of looking at the potential, you’re just shooting them all down before trying! What’s the worry? You clearly are interested in him, he’s interested in you, you both have a strong bond that so many would die for, yet you think it won’t work!”

Her outburst drew in all the glances and Hilda just smiled at them with a force that turned them away just as quickly. She stepped closer and looked up at Lysithea. “I completely understand that you are committed to the idea of Cyril and me becoming a couple, and it’s not like I have been playing over that image myself. I just don’t know what my feelings for him are at the moment. So why don’t I suggest I meet him one more time, and if I feel there is a spark I’ll consider going out with him. Would that satisfy you?”

“Yes. Yes, that would.”

Lysithea paused. “Thank you for giving it a second chance.”

“Wonderful,” Hilda puckered her lips and stepped back. “Now, I do understand that he is with Ashe at Lorenz’s castle.”

“Oh, really? Cyril had been worried over Ashe ever since Those Who Slither in The Dark had been revealed. He must have gone AWOL if he is with him.”

“Is that how it happened?” Hilda tapped her chin. “Oh, dear, if the knights are to travel over there and catch him outside his post, he’d be in much trouble. Who knows if I’d even find him at that point…”

“Yeah, that would become a bit of a mess, especially when we’re readying for a war. It’d be best if you go ahead and meet before he gets swept into it.”

“I wish I could, but there are no spare fliers available,” Hilda lied.

Lysithea grabbed her shoulder. “If that’s the case, I’ll teleport you.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you!” Hilda widened her eyes and dropped her hand.

“Hush, it’s my husband’s place, it’s not a problem for me.”

“But what about- you know- holding back on meeting Lorenz before your discovery?”

She waved her hand. She tugged at her shawl and flung it over her head. “Wouldn’t count if he doesn’t find me.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you’d do so much for me. Thank you, Lysithea! I am always amazed at your abilities. There is clearly no one who can match you in magic!”

Lysithea blushed as she stepped back and began brandishing a circular pattern in the air. “At that you’re absolutely correct!”

 _What a sweet child._ The pink glow casted under their feet and she could only surmise a wash of colour before the surrounding distorted from an open field to the familiar mural she visited mere days ago. She was thrown into the center of men who donned furred capes and tinted plate armor and focused on the two ladies with surprise. Hilda sought through rugged complexions and aged skin until she found a freckled, youthful face.

Hilda simply extended her gloved hand. “Hello Lord Gaspard!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting an eetsy bits closer! Wanted to cover a range of ladies who have no shits to give.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril and Marianne investigate for clues.

The last mercenary stumbled into the hut like a drunk loon with an overzealous need to tell the story of a lifetime. The barrier faded into a thin sheet before he roughhoused the door, tearing it down and almost running into Cyril.

“Erh, have you been hiding here the entire time? You stupid fools, this is why we were spotted so easily!”

“What do you mean?” Cyril asked.

The mercenary shot over to the other mercenaries and grabbed them by the collar. “You guys were wandering so blatantly in those mountains I’m surprised you didn’t bother carrying red flags with you! They were here, but they quickly disbanded from their secret quarters.”

The two growled at each other and began bickering. Caspar massaged the bridge of his nose and Marianne looked at them with quiet contempt before she decided to speak up.

“Tell us what you have found. I will decide what is worthwhile or not.”

He dropped his gaze and began his report. It was a sullen day to follow the whispers of the town, but eventually that led him to the invisible trail of underground people who hid like two-legged moles. He quickly garnered that they conspired under the construct of penniless witches brewing potions for the priory while moving from one district to another. It was hard to distinguish between the ordinary ones and the ones in disguise – until he realized that a handful of them were suddenly missing altogether.

But it had been two days since Hilda disappeared, and none of these secretive members returned to their frequented spots. The mercenary sought for rumours on where they would be, but all he could find were the residence left behind in such a rush that even the Bunsen burner was flickering with warmth. Unfortunately he was more a mercenary than a stealthy spy, and when the landlord found him searching the clues within the premise he was forced to retreat.

“So you’re saying Hilda is not here anymore,” Cyril said.

The mercenary nodded. “There had been no information from the fortress that she had been found, so I will take it that once they captured her they moved altogether.”

They silently understood what this implied. They might not have gone near the Hero’s Relic, but they had already dispersed and were most likely dragging Hilda along.

“Take me to the residence. There may be clues that we can find,” Marianne said, a firm tone that refused to admit defeat. He simply shrugged.

The team quickly packed up and followed the mercenary back to the village where Those Who Slither in The Dark abode. The strong, industrious houses were built in tight alignment around their local creek, which was a shy collective stream of melted snow that fruited the community with crisp grass and lush bushels. Cyril tugged his cloak closer over his head when children passed by, but the Almyran boy was the least of their interest when the sight of Marianne’s elegant blue dress caught their attention. She lectured them on playing past dusk with a sternness easily betrayed by her smile, but the children glowed with obedience when she offered a small blessing in an ancient verse, and they trotted off immediately to boast to their parents about the sagely woman.

How curious.

Marianne waved at them when she noticed Cyril’s stare. “Is something wrong?”

“You learned it from Lady Rhea?”

Marianne nodded. “She had taught the gospel choir and scribes a bit of the script in the last of her years. They are the words the goddess has passed to Saint Seiros before sending her to protect humanity.”

Listening to Marianne on their walk took him back to the day he first met Lady Rhea: She was a woman who commanded the entire scene with her entrance into the Goneril fortress, with a graceful smile so captivating that it stunned everyone into silence. But even then, Cyril was suspicious. He was suspicious even though it was because of her that he escaped that whipstrike from his former slaver. This strange woman had even frightened off the Gonerils with that smile, and her deep, motherly voice that had earlier put shivers up their spines had then turned to him with gentleness as she reached out her hand. It felt so dreamlike even when he entered the carriage ride with her and watched the fortress shrink out of his view, and especially so because of the doting strokes he felt against his hair. He had been on alert for so long that he didn’t know this strange sensation, of how to lower his guard, but this strange woman made him feel…safe. His eyelids grew heavier with exhaustion, but he tried to stay awake to convince himself that it was not a dream, but it was the lulling sounds of Lady Rhea’s foreign prayer that finally put him into a deep slumber. It was a revisit of a peace that he last felt back when he was tucked between the embrace of his parents as they giggled themselves to sleep on the hand woven mat softening the ground.

Cyril couldn’t even remember their faces anymore. “When all of this is over…Can I listen to it again?”

Her dress rustled as she turned. “Of course.”

Caspar jogged back from afar with Freikugel bouncing from his straps. He called the two who fell behind and directed them to the alchemist shop that had been closed for the last few days. The landlord was solidly barring the entrance, but when Marianne graced herself forward and promised a blessing to his family he happily stepped aside. The view of clutter was immediate: The shop was chaotically introduced with bristled quills and ink pooling from the tossed over vials, and there were papers and books everywhere abandoned in a wild panic.

The mercenaries, Caspar, Marianne and Cyril were quick to cover all the corners to arrange the mess into a comprehensive story. There was much to work with, and the scattered books, scrolls and torn out pages quickly drained that enthusiasm. They dropped all the papers onto a pile and tossed ideas on what they should search for. From the writing it was clear that most were encrypted in a foreign language.

“Argh, if only we could understand what it is saying!” Caspar grumbled while ruffling his hair.

“The shapes look familiar… I think it was in Shambala where I saw these,” Cyril observed. The etchings in the book spines were hieroglyphic and had an unnatural glow to it. He flipped through one book, but it was entirely covered in text with no drawings to give away its meanings. He sighed and dropped it back onto the pile. Noticing Caspar going into another room he followed him. All the light was consumed by the shadows. After adjusting to the dark, the silhouettes formed to be of furniture and kitchenware, most which would be considered essentials in an everyday household.

Caspar dusted off the kettle that was to his right. “Weird, I don’t think I’ve seen a kitchen here actually.”

“Yeah, looks like they repurposed the entire place for research,” Cyril added. He noted a shimmer in the back. He felt his place around until he waved into a clear pathway between the stacks of tables and chairs and walked through.

“Where are you going?” Caspar asked and put the kettle aside.

“Hol’ up.” As Cyril got closer he mustered a large disk the size of a person. The room around him was reflected on its surface, but they were so dark that it appeared ethereal. He traced the smooth surface of the mirror. No dust. 

“Dude, that’s a huge mirror.” Cyril almost jumped when Caspar spoke over his shoulder. “You think it’s a clue?”

Cyril nodded. “Yeah. It looks pretty clean compared to everything else here.”

“Should we pull it out into the main hall? Maybe the others can see what it is.”

“Iunno, what if it breaks? Let’s light the room first.”

Caspar quickly left and returned with a lamp from the other room and lit it. The storage room was an elongated stretch with forgotten furniture, all except for the one cleared path that Cyril had followed. The dust on the floor was scampered off from multiple footsteps and led from the door to the silver framed mirror he was standing in front of, which itself was ornate with emerald foliage and diamonds.

“I don’t really see anything special about it. It’s a mirror,” Caspar commented as he got closer with the lamp. Cyril agreed with a shrug and they turned back. There was some familiarity to this room that he couldn’t put his finger to. They both joined Marianne at the front.

The mercenaries had rolled out a scroll and pointed out the drawings of the dragon’s head, the shape of their country, but the lines crossing through the topography did not match with the ones they were currently familiar with.

“It could be borders from a former time, but I can’t say for sure since I’m not well versed with the history,” Marianne said as the two looked over. “But to me they look like they belong to a prospective division around important locations, like the former capital cities. Then there are also these x marks all over the country.”

“Kinda like they’re crossing off cities one by one,” one mercenary pointed out.

“Yes, it lets me to believe it may have something to do with their hunt for something… maybe for crest bearers, or for bodies to reanimate. These are all locations where we had received reports of suspicious activity.”

“Wait, so these marks where the x’s are not drawn out… They might not have gone to those yet!” Caspar exclaimed. “Huh, most of those are in Faerghus.”

“Which would match with what information we had,” Marianne said. “But what I’m interested in is these circles, one at the eastern mountains – which is where we are- but also at House Ordelia. Are those two their bases?”

“Ah!”

Everyone turned to Cyril. With wide eyes he grabbed the lamp and ran back into the storage room and hunched over the furniture. The others followed after him to see what the shout of epiphany led him to.

“All this furniture- I remember seeing these in Lysithea’s home before she relinquished it to the new lord.” It was closely after she accepted Lorenz’s proposal that the plans to move to his castle solidified. Cyril had joined her in her final days at that house to help collect her belongings, which was how he learned about the household’s aesthetics and the unique city stranded in the river. A glass city that mirrored the ripples of the water, with vines spread out of the foot of the buildings. It was like a younger twin of the grand capital city Deirdru while upholding their own pride.

“You’re saying Lysithea lived here?” Caspar asked in surprise.

“No, that can’t be right,” Marianne quickly interjected. “This area belongs to Goneril.”

“Yeah, these are the exact same furniture that we cleared out of her castle when she packed. I remember cuz she spoke about her childhood while going through all her belongings.” He didn’t mention how she gloated over the mismatched footing handcrafted around the legs; it was her moment to reminisce about her deceased brothers who experimented with carpentry, and it was a memory not for him to share.

“Ordelia was struggling financially for a bit too; maybe they sold it,” one mercenary suggested.

“Either way, I don’t see how this involves Those Who Slither in The Dark,” the other one said.

Both Marianne and Cyril lit up when he mentioned that. The points began to connect. Lysithea had confessed that her House was run by Those Who Slither in The Dark under the guise of an Adrestrian lord until the experimentation on her was completed. Given the mark on the map and their established familiarity with the location, it could be that they had returned to Ordelia and set it as their headquarter using the purchase as a lord to cover their intentions.

So if they had means to transport between House Ordelia and this village, then that’d explain how the furniture arrived. Marianne gazed at the furniture and noted the scratches on the floor from where it was dragged across. She followed it to the mirror, looked behind it, and turned back with eyes of clarity.

“They have been using this mirror to move between these two locations.” 

As if possessed, Marianne sporadically created a plot that explained it all: Those Who Slither in The Dark needed a means to secretively move a large number of people from one location to another after all their other methods of travelling had failed. They must have set up mirrors such as this one to warp from one location to another as needed, ready to move on command when all their pieces had been set. The village was an offshoot from House Ordelia so they could monitor Goneril, and with Hilda kidnapped they used the mirror one last time to leave. This place had no purpose left.

“Then why did they leave the shop in scrambles? You would think they’d destroy all evidence of their existence – at least I would,” the third mercenary asked.

“ _We_ showed up,” Caspar said simply. “You must have come very close in finding them, so they pretended that they couldn’t pay off their dues and disappeared. They kept up their façade of simple mages to the very end.”

“So you’re saying that Hilda could be in House Ordelia?” Cyril asked. He tempered his legs in agitation.

Marianne assessed him uneasily and folded her fingers together. “I really hope so. Even then, it is a large location, so it would be impossible with a more refined lead to go there.”

“We can’t just stop here,” Cyril clenched his teeth.

Marianne pursed her lips. “We need more intelligence.”

“What about the mirror? We could use it as a shortcut.” Caspar coursed his fingers through all the ridges of the frame as if hoping that there was a trigger.

“That is a good idea, Caspar. Looking at it, it seems to be restricted to a spell or tool,” Marianne muttered. “I don’t see a way to activate it, but if we study it more we could make use of it. We should bring it back with us to the castle of Gloucester and have it examined.”

“We should contact the Gonerils too. This is their territory so they should be aware that those Slitherers have been hiding under their noses,” a mercenary added.

Marianne turned to the mercenaries. She assigned the quickest one to run to speak with the Goneril family, while the other two would deliver the mirror to the west.

Caspar ruffled his hair. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea to send a mercenary, he might be held off seeing as he’s an independent contractor… it’s better that a familiar face enters.” He turned to Marianne with a crooked smile. “Plus I need to deliver Freikugel to Holst.”

Marianne’s eyes softened. “What about Hilda?”

Caspar eyed Cyril. “She’s in good hands with you two. Plus, I would slow you down with no flier.”

“We’ll get her back,” Cyril said sternly.

“I better hope so. I’m furious I won’t get in on the action,” Caspar joked. “Well, let’s not waste any more time,” he patted the other mercenary, “let’s go!”

Marianne and Cyril picked up the maps of interest, made sure the remaining two mercenaries were able to secure the mirror on a carriage for the return, and then headed off themselves. They were focused on their inner thoughts as they returned to the outskirt where their wyvern and pegasus awaited. The set up was efficient and quick, and Cyril realized that once they’d soar the sky he wouldn’t have an opportunity to speak with Marianne again, given that they’d rush their way back. Cyril wrung at the halter.

Marianne was already on her pegasus when she noticed his hesitance. “Are you okay?”

No, this wasn’t the time to discuss his feelings. “Yes,” Cyril climbed his saddle. “Let’s go.”

The constellations guiding their path revived Cyril from his fatigue and awakened his excitement. They had a lead. He could finally find Hilda. Maybe it was the assurance of the full moon behind their backs, but he felt the hope rising up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This supposed romance fiction is turning into a Scooby Doo hunt lmao. But guess whaaat? They're heading back to Lorenz's castle, and who's there??


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda discusses the future

Hilda was surprised how recognizable everyone was after all these years. Maybe it was the chipped armour, but their regal appearance was weighed down by a rugged undertone that she imagined developed over the years of handling the recovery of this chaotic nation. Leonie looked wicked but beautiful, a bright fox among the men. Felix was stalking behind her with a sheared head that made her shriek for the goddess. Sylvain looked more like a lion with his mane, lazily assessing from the sidelines. Oh, and Mercedes’ smile was as gentle-hearted as the ever moon. Ashe looked _adorable_ with the moustache that perfectly aligned with his mouth, especially with those shy hazel eyes.

Even Lorenz gaped at her sudden appearance and she could feel Lysithea snuck behind her back.

“Hilda! You’re okay!” Leonie shot forward, pushing Ashe aside and grabbed Hilda by her shoulders. “What in Seiros’ name happened? We heard you were kidnapped! We sent a rescue party out!”

“What? Oh no, I managed to escape yesterday…” Hilda squeaked.

“Did they hurt you?” Lorenz was immediately next to Leonie and called Mercedes to assess her, but Hilda insisted that she was already treated back in Garreg Mach.

Lorenz frowned. “But you were on your way to Goneril. This seems to be quite the obscure travel you’ve gone through.”

“Yeah, there have been a few unexpected detours along the way. It definitely makes me reconsider travelling for a while,” Hilda joked.

The perfectly knit brows did not accept the explanation. “I can see that you have quite a bit to share, but as a noble it would be rude of me to let you do so without being welcomed. We were in the middle of a discussion, but I can take you and your friend to the guest rooms to rest - Lysithea, is that you?”

Lysithea groaned under the shawl. “How did you recognize me?!”

Lorenz immediately rushed to her. “My dearest, these numerous months were unbearable without your voice and presence, but I would always recognize you even if decades were to pass.” He reached for her shawl that covered her head, only for her to hold his hands back. “What is the matter, my love?”

“Can- can I leave this on for now? I’ll explain it later.” Lysithea whispered. Lorenz clamped back a retort and nodded.

“If that is what you wish. Your room had been kept clean, and your belongings are untouched. You could rest in your room.”

“No, I’m fine. I just came by to drop off Hilda. I should head back with the Knights. The first troops are on their way.”

“Why bother going through all of that if they’re coming here anyway? Just take it easy,” Hilda suggested.

“I’m sorry, but did you not remember the Creature that suddenly popped up?”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Felix shouted in. “I thought we eradicated all those monsters with the empire! There shouldn’t be any prowling around!” The crowd began to mutter with confusion.

Sylvain sighed and raised a hand, his strong voice quickly shutting everyone up. “Okay, we clearly need to pause our meeting so you can brief us on what happened.”

And thus Hilda retold the chapter of the last twenty four hours for a third time. This time, though, Sylvain’s eyes gleamed as he finally captured some concrete information, but Lysithea’s posture gave away a reaction of the opposite spectrum.

“Hilda! You’re certain that their base was in House Ordelia?” Lysithea shouted.

Hilda nodded. “I’ve not been there often, but the city is distinguishable enough that I recognized the buildings.”

Lysithea’s legs lost their strength and she buckled down against Lorenz.

“But I made sure that Duke Lesfeldt signed the papers… I’ve known him for so long, and he never acted suspicious….He was one of them… Oh gods, he was one of them… I feel sick…”

Lorenz picked her up and called for a break while he took her to her room.

“So why are you here, Hilda?” Leonie asked, still standing by her side.

There was no way Hilda would announce that she sought for Cyril. Her hunt for a school ambassador would be difficult to justify in this war-fested atmosphere. “Oh, uh, Byleth sent me here, saying that as a Crest-bearer I should be protected in this house.”

“That makes sense. Just glad you’re okay.” Leonie scratched her head. “Kind of awkward that Marianne and Cyril will return empty-handed.”

“What do you mean? Are they okay?”

“The two were part of the rescue team with our men,” Felix answered with crossed arms. “They assumed that The Slitherers were looking for your weapon and headed to its hiding spot to cut them off. Sounds like they had the right idea, but they didn’t consider that you’d have outsmarted them.”

“It’s alright,” Ashe said. “They promised to make it a quick reconnaissance, and if there’s no sign within the first day they’d return. We still have some time before we know for sure. And seeing how you were nowhere near there and Those Who Slither in The Dark were ruminating in House Ordelia, they should return.”

“If you say so,” Hilda said. “I feel kinda bad that they made an unnecessary roundabout though.”

“Hey, you should not feel responsible for this!” Leonie wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “If anything, it’s those bastards that are to blame! Don’t you worry, with all of us together, and professor moving in with an ambush plan, we’ll be able to stop them once and for all!”

“Yes, you shouldn’t worry about that,” Mercedes smiled. “Now, is there anything you plan to do while you’re here?”

Hilda shrugged. “Sounds to me like you’re all in a meeting? I guess I’ll take Lorenz’ advice and rest in the guest room. Don’t want to disrupt your important discussions.”

“Actually, it’s better if you stay,” Sylvain winked. “Your encounter with Those Who Slither in The Dark could actually prove to be helpful here.”

 _Oh please no._ Hilda smiled. “Oh, you expect too much of me, there is nothing more I could tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Please, Hilda,” Leonie asked.

She didn’t deter her smile. “…Fine.”

Lorenz’ return triggered the continuation of the meeting, which was apparently an arrangement of the lords and warriors nestled in the castle to begin their movement as soon as Byleth arrived with their knights. Hilda did not understand their anticipatory discussion, seeing as they relied on Byleth’s orders before they could coordinate their next step. It was still no better than sitting idly by. Speaking of which, what made Marianne assume that Hilda couldn’t handle herself? She vowed to pinch Marianne by the cheeks when she got a hold of her.

Cyril was with her too apparently. Good, he needed a smack in the head too. How could he allow Marianne to endanger herself on this pointless rescue? They shouldn’t have done all this for her.

Ashe’s hazel eyes darted over her and Hilda straightened when she realized she spaced out. “You think so too, Hilda?”

 _Shit._ “Why, yes, absolutely!”

“Great!” Sylvain rested his hand on his hip in satisfaction. “That settles it then. The time to fight back is nigh. Let us all replenish our supplies. We’ll gather by the drawbridge tomorrow morning.”

Everyone immediately disassembled with a set plan into all directions. Leonie and Felix began commanding their mercenaries as they strived for the outside. Lorenz swiftly returned to the private rooms in concern for his wife. Hilda tried to connect what she missed out with the strings of words from the passerby, but she couldn’t line them into a full story. Was Byleth arriving by tomorrow? Where were they moving to? Mercedes was engaged with a few maids to prepare baked goods. Ashe was nowhere to be found. The familiar faces were slowly disappearing from the hall. 

“It would be a tragedy to have such beauty wander all alone in this boring old place.”

Hilda simply stood by and smiled. “Hello to you too, Sylvain.”

The lion stalked toward her. “I hear the Gloucester family has masterfully tended a rose garden that blushes from the furthest range of the walls. I would love to share that view with someone whose own beauty would magnify against them.”

“You’ve come to the right place, Sylvain. I can show it to you.”

He winked. “I could never turn down an offer like that.”

With a graceful hold over his arm she surveyed down the back gardens to the botanical gates, past the bridge and away from the vineyard. Sylvain did not lie about the infamous greenery that the Gloucester family embellished over the generations; they had prided in using their vast lands to boast the refined side of Fodlan with botanies of the highest pedigree that could be seen as far west as the Daphnel mountains.

Sylvain spared little time to strike compliments in match to the scenery. The poetic words slid off of her skin, but she would never disapprove receiving more of them. Sylvain was fully aware how ineffective his flirtatious efforts were, but he continued with free discourse because it was one of the rare exchanges where he could entice a reaction that was neither a blush nor a slap. 

Eventually they found the roses. So plum and round, they glittered from the morning dew as they hung off the hedges. It was a sight to behold, but once they began strolling it was clear that neither were actually interested in the excuse they used to seclude themselves.

Sylvain removed the arm she still looped around. “You weren’t paying attention earlier, were you Hilda?”

Hilda nodded and folded her hands together. “What need was there for me to do so anyway?”

“Fair enough, you got roped into it. Why don’t I give you a word of advice then; stay in the guest room and be out of everyone’s sight while we set our preparations, otherwise you’ll get even further involved.”

“Well now I’m curious what exactly these preparations are.” She tilted her head and studied his beard. “Why are you being so secretive around the church?”

“You make it sound like it’s a conspiracy, Hilda.” He smiled so charmingly. “We are just taking a precaution at a time when we are clearly left in the dark. That’s only fair, right?”

“You and your trust issues. You need to work on that if you want to bind your life to another.”

“But it is because of these trust issues that I am being graced by the wonderful lady in front of me.”

Hilda hummed. “Unfortunately these graces are also limited. I’m sorry Sylvain, but you’ll have better chance with the head of Sreng.”

Sylvain chuckled and let go. “Sounds like I have an absolute chance then.”

Hilda’s eyes widened. “…No.” A blink. “You _didn’t.”_

Sylvain winked. “I did.”

Hilda was stunned. “You and the head of Sreng…Maybe I should keep you on my list of useful networks after all.”

“Oh? And what would a school principal want with a measly man who laid a Sreng?”

Hilda smiled again. She wrapped her arm around his forearm and batted her eyes. “I want the children of Sreng to study under my tutelage. My academy will hone in crafts that’d be excellent in preserving their culture. What do you think?”

Sylvain tilted his head. “That sounds very altruistic of you. But why, Hilda, would I be interested in shopping for Sreng students for you?”

Hilda stood on her toes and gleamed closer. “Don’t you want more excuses to visit your lady up north?”

Sylvain grinned.

In their return back they began talking about Hilda’s consideration in reaching out to foreign students to enter her academy. Even if Hilda never drank any of Sylvain’s syrupy words in the past, she was acutely aware that he was quite intelligible when it came to people’s affairs, and she quickly syphoned the information out of him. She wanted people from Duscur, Dagda and Albinea, and it was no difficult task for Sylvain; he knew someone who knew someone else who’d gladly browse for talented children.

And Almyra?

“You’re thinking of Cyril to help you recruit, aren’t you?” Sylvain grinned as they crossed the bridge.

Hilda looked up at him. “You agree that he’d be perfect, no?”

Sylvain sighed. “He’s proven himself to be a good right hand man when Ashe rose up as lord. It’s rare to find someone with such loyalty who doesn’t shirk away from authority. I see where you’re coming from, I get it, but he’s too valuable for Ashe to willingly let go.”

Hilda gulped. “But Ashe must have established himself already. Does he really need him that much?”

“We’re in a time where Fodlan is reinventing itself - you tell me. Why don’t you ask Claude to find someone else for you? I thought you two were inseparable, would he not help you?”

“He would.” Hilda avoided his eyes. “But it wouldn’t be the same.”

She could feel his stare from the sides. “Well, if you’re so adamant about it, you should persuade Ashe.”

“Aw, you wouldn’t do it for me?”

“Hey, I can have my way with men and women, but pulling Cyril away from Ashe is not one I can pull off.”

Hilda pouted.

Sylvain’s eyes softened. “Ashe went over to the watch tower to keep an eye out for the rescue team. He’s been acting nonchalant about their departure, but he’s been a nervous wreck since Marianne and Cyril left.”

“…I’ll try.”

He grinned back apologetically. The rest of the walk was Sylvain’s turn to reign in information out of Hilda. He wanted to know everything about Those Who Slither in The Dark and the corpse-like Creature, asking her to recreate the scenario from different angles so he could piece out a coherent image. It was clear with his prodding that he wasn’t leaving anything to chance; she supposed that this was the face of a cautious leader who was well aware of the weight bearing on his shoulder.

They eventually returned back and Hilda knew where to turn to. She discarded Sylvain to his pleading knights and aimed for the watch tower where Ashe stood as promised.

Ashe turned towards Hilda when she climbed the final rungs and helped her up. “What takes you up here, Hilda?”

Hilda recovered her breath before she answered. “Oh, I was trying to get away from all those questions they’re bombarding me with.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for being here, I just thought to get a good view from here, but you probably want some peace. I’ll be out of your way,” Ashe shuffled over to the ladder, but Hilda quickly interrupted him.

“There’s no need for you to leave! I appreciate how considerate you are of my space; that’s all I need.”

Ashe’s eyes were flitting all over the floor. “Uh, if you say so.”

Hilda tilted her head. Ashe seemed quite nervous around her. Had she said something that intimidated him? “If anything, I should be the one apologizing in disrupting your alone time. Would you like me to leave?”

“What? Oh, no, you can stay. I was just standing by.”

“Well, okay. It _is_ a nice view out here.” She walked over to the opening and looked over the landscape. “It really does give you the impression that everything’s peaceful.”

“Yeah, it is nice.” After some hesitation, Ashe joined her. “The weather’s clear too, so you can see pretty far.”

“Oh? Is there something you’re looking for?” Hilda asked innocently.

Ashe nodded. “Y-yeah. Cyril and Marianne. They should be coming back soon.”

“That is reassuring. I was rather worried- and feel guilty too- that they set out to search for me.”

Ashe’s brows lowered. “There wasn’t much any of us could have done to persuade them against. Cyril is very stubborn, but I’m glad that he went out to be by Marianne’s side.”

Did that mean that Cyril only went under Ashe’s instruction? Hilda felt a tinge of disappointment. Ashe’s eyes widened and quickly turned to Hilda. “I-it’s not that she isn’t capable to go on her own! It’s just… more comforting to know she isn’t alone.”

“Don’t worry, I understand what you meant,” Hilda assured him, trying to colour her voice to blanket over her sullen feelings. “I appreciate that you sent Cyril out. Marianne can sometimes be reckless, especially when it comes to others, so it’s good if there’s someone around who can reel her back in.”

“Oh! No, no, I didn’t tell him to go,” Ashe shook his head. “Cyril was acting all frantic- ah, I mean- he, uhh… he…he _wanted_ to go. He was worried about you!” Ashe was desperately trying to find the right words and looked her straight in the eyes. “Cyril wanted to save you.”

Hilda reflexively smiled. Ugh, how easily she was swayed. She quickly spun it into a wider, more playful smile in hopes that she didn’t give herself away so easily. “Goodness Ashe, there’s no need to sell it so hard!”

Ashe blushed. “Sorry. I guess it makes sense he wanted to help. You two were good friends after all.”

“But so are you two,” Hilda leaned on the stone. “Cyril wouldn’t stop talking about you when we bumped into each other in Garreg Mach.”

“Ah, really?” Ashe smiled sheepishly. “He mentioned he saw you.” Hilda wondered how detailed Cyril was, but then again he wasn’t much for gossip. Ashe brightened. “That’s right, you haven’t seen each other since Lysithea’s wedding! Did you recognize him?”

“To be honest, I didn’t until he called me by name. I didn’t expect him to grow his hair out! Is that your doing?” Hilda pointed at Ashe’s own locks, which were just as long but otherwise smooth and straight compared to Cyril’s curly ones. He immediately ran his hand over his hair.

“What? No…it just happened that way. Cyril had been so busy that he didn’t spare time to maintain himself, and let me tell you, his facial hair just _grows_! One day he walked in on a meeting after a sleepless night of labour work, and he already had thicker stubbles than I did!”

Hilda giggled at the image. Claude did tell her that the thicket of hair was a common Almyran trait after complaining to her about the meticulous routine he had to set in order to blend in with the Fodlanese (so he said, but he clearly enjoyed the manicured image).

“I’m kinda jealous of you two,” Hilda suddenly said. Ashe raised a brow and she clarified. “Of your friendship, I mean. He may be your right hand man from what Cyril has told me, but you two are clearly friends before anything else.”

Ashe’s grimaced with embarrassment. “Yeah, he’s my best friend. My life would be quite different without him. But I don’t see why you would have to be jealous. You two are friends too.”

“That is true. But we’ve drifted apart over the years, you know?”

“It’s natural to think like that when you haven’t spoken for a while, but it’s not at the cost of your friendship!” For some reason Ashe sounded desperate and he gripped at the stones. “At least it’s true for Cyril. He’s still… fond of you.”

“You’re so sweet. You really think he considers me a friend?” Ashe was not aware that she rejected Cyril. It was clear when he didn’t look as upset as Lysithea.

“I think so. Why else would he have wanted to rescue you?”

Hilda hummed, unconvinced. “But he’ll be back to work as a knight and be by your side. It’d hardly put me in his inner circle, so I’m as good as any fond memory.”

Ashe tried to come up with an answer, but only gaped like a carp. Hilda found him adorable, which made her feel guiltier for directing him into a specific route in this conversation. 

“W-why don’t you place yourself back into his circle?”

Hilda raised a brow. “How so?”

Ashe blushed furiously. “Maybe you could, uh, find a way to tend to your career in Gaspard? I heard that you started an academy, and I was thinking of introducing an education system in my city, so maybe you could assist me on that?”

Hilda mouthed an ‘oh’. That was a thought she hadn’t considered. “Well, that is a marvelous idea, actually. To have another branch over there would actually go along well with my plan, as I would like to introduce foreigners into Fodlan using my programs. Having one allocated there would make it more accessible for possible students from Sreng, Duscur and Albinea.”

Ashe brightened. Hilda’s smile cut him off though, “Having said that, the academy is still in its early years, and I need to prune it before I can think of additional branches. You see, the same idea falls for my first school in Leicester, meaning that I’m still working on a strong relationship with the eastern neighbours.”

“You mean Morfis and Almyra?”

Hilda nodded. “It is a lot for me to handle, and I need strong, capable ambassadors to fulfill that task for me. Until then, I could not be productive enough in keeping the academy sturdy, let alone expand it.”

“Ah, so you need to hire some people first,” Ashe murmured, trying to see the hurdles she must face.

“Yes. I need someone who would be able to mingle with both Almyra and Morfis,” Hilda sighed.

“And Claude got Almyra covered?” Ashe asked.

Hilda sighed deeper. “Oh, I wish. But he is oh-too busy to help his dearest Hilda.”

“That’s too bad,” Ashe said.

“It is,” Hilda said, her lips a thin line. “But if there’s anyone you can think of who’d fit that role, do let me know.”

“Will do,” Ashe smiled promisingly.

“…Anyone,” Hilda repeated blankly. “Someone who can speak their language and is familiar with their culture would be excellent for this role.”

“In Morfis they speak in Galdrar, right?”

“Yeah.”

Ashe crossed his arm and sighed. “Sorry, I can’t think of anyone.”

“What about an Almyran?”

The corner of his mouth tugged down. “No.”

It took all of Hilda’s strength not to groan with impatience. “You don’t think Cyril would qualify?”

It took a moment for her suggestion to sink in. “Cyril? Oh, no, no, no, he can’t- he is a knight, I need-,” his eyes widened and he dropped his arms. “He hasn’t been in Almyra for ten years! I don’t think he can even speak it anymore!”

Hilda gaped at him. “Wait, he forgot how to speak Almyran?”

He looked down, panic stricken. “Ah- I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know for sure, but I would think that’d be the case.”

Hilda placed her hand on her forehead as if dizzy. That couldn’t be right. This was Cyril he was speaking of! “I’m sorry, I don’t know many people who speak more than one language, so I don’t know how this works. People can _forget_ how to speak an entire language?!” 

Ashe glanced at her nervously. “I don’t know for sure either.”

Hilda did not bother hiding how upset she was. “Don’t say something so serious if you don’t know! What made you think that first of all?”

Ashe paused, debating if he should continue. “Well, it came up in a conversation, I asked him what a certain word was called in Almyran. I don’t remember what the word was, but I do remember how long it took for Cyril to come up with the translation. I still remember the panic in his eyes.”

Hilda pinned him with a piercing look. “If that is true, then it’s all the more important that he can reconnect with Almyra.”

Ashe sighed. “That is for Cyril to decide.”

She stared at him longer, quelling the fury within herself while she took in his words. Ashe was right, but the fact that this was allowed to go unnoticed was what angered her. But who was she to condemn him? And now she’d upset them both, making their watch on the tower less bearable.

“You’re right. If you allow me then, I will ask Cyril if he wants to join me in the east.”

Ashe’s eyes glazed, and then he nodded.

The wind slurred the cold breeze with the summer heat. The two devoured the silence on the stone slabs with no further interest other than the eastern horizon. The two who valued the Almyran boy so dearly had come to realize that their fondness would tear him to two opposing parts of the country. One of them had to give in to Cyril’s wishes, but it would not eliminate the remorse for the one who lost, and there’d be equally weighted guilt for the one who’d take him in. Why was there a need to contest for his future? His decision might affect the next few years of his life, but it didn’t mean that he considered his friendship with either Ashe or Hilda to be less meaningful. And was his physical presence necessary to preserve their connection when there were many other means to do so?

Hilda believed so. Their reunion had elevated their bond to a point that his absence set her in a withdrawal state. She needed him. She needed Cyril. She wanted to feel him, to hear his voice. She missed the brows that furrowed at her, the tender touch when he tucked her hair away, the light accent when he said unfamiliar words.

O goddess, how did it become so bad?

Ashe gasped lightly when he pointed at the clouds above. Her heart hammered as she scanned in the directions.

The two shapes finally mustered up and grew into the wide-winged creatures that carried Cyril and Marianne towards the castle grounds, unaware of the two warriors who’ve been cravingly waiting for their best friends. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of Cyril are based on my own personal experience as someone who was forced to move to another country where I barely knew anyone who could speak the language I grew up with, and I am starting to realize that I'm forgetting a lot because of the lack of practice (coincidentally it's also been 10 years). It's terrifying to forget a part of what makes you you.
> 
> I like delving into the nitty gritty of current events and to discuss the future, but honestly my main reason for this snail pace is to get different characters to interact that you don't see in the game itself. I mean, both Marianne & Hilda and Cyril & Ashe are great bffs, so I feel it's important that the main duo spends time with the other's best friend. But then we also have Claude and Lysithea who are great pairing/bffs for the main characters, so they will get their spotlight too! 
> 
> The two are going to see each other soon. They've been apart for too long.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril Finds Hilda

The wind gutted Cyril’s breath in their sharp dive toward the drawbridge. He was mere steps behind Marianne as they curved into the courtyard and startled the horses with their heavy landing. Rodrigue stood over at the balustrade and rushed down the stairs, shouting over the squires drinking at the steps to rein in the horses, and turned his attention to Marianne.

Before he could say anything though, Marianne shook her head to quickly indicate that they didn’t find Hilda. “It may be of poor solitude, but we believe we have a lead to where she could be,” Marianne explained as he got closer.

Rodrigue’s smile didn’t falter. “That is informative, but it is of no matter; Hilda is safe and sound. She is in fact resting here after a strenuous escape from the enemy.”

Marianne clasped her trembling hand, slowly lifting them over her mouth to cover her quivering smile. “Is she okay?” Rodrigue nodded, and she sighed with relief.

“Let the squires take care of your steed and you can rest as well.”

“Can we see her right now?” Marianne asked.

Rodrigue’s eyes quickly shifted over Cyril, then back to her. “That should be agreeable, although I don’t know where she resides at the moment.”

“Thank you, we will find our way around.” Immediately, Marianne scurried fast over the cobblestone as if unrestrained by her dress, jousting forward with Cyril close to her trail. 

“She’s safe,” Marianne whispered with joy. Cyril nodded, not daring to verbally answer and hear his own excited voice. They entered the great hall and had little chance to go further when a servant announced their arrival.

Any other time the cheerful crowd would have been welcome, but the hold up only irritated them both, and Marianne had to repeatedly order the servants to step back. Mercedes came just at the moment of her outburst and froze in confusion. Marianne apologized profusely while Cyril asked whether she’d seen Hilda, but she did not know either. Last she saw it was Sylvain who attended to Hilda’s company, but who knew where he went.

Cyril’s head ached. Even in the safe grounds they had to go on an endless chase to find her. The two quickly scaled up the stairs and combed through the halls, the chambers and the guest rooms. They quickly passed by Lorenz’s chamber and quipped their arrival, but Lorenz was too focused on caring for his bedridden wife that he politely chased them out. They were close to giving up until they turned down into the gallery where they bumped into Sylvain- but he was with a woman whose hair colour was as non-provoking as the tilled fields.

Sylvain brightened his suave smile and greeted them with the arm that was wrapped around the maid’s shoulder. “I’m glad you made it safe and sound! What’s with those faces?”

“We heard Hilda is here,” Cyril began, comfortable enough to speak to him on the same level as Ashe. “Ya seen her?”

“Oh, you didn’t go to the watch tower?” Sylvain asked innocently enough, but Cyril could sense the smug undertone. “And here I was sending her over there with Ashe to be the first ones to welcome you when you arrived.”

“Ah- thank you Sylvain-“ Marianne was curt and quickly spun around.

“Well, I doubt they’re still there though,” Sylvain added quickly. “They must have spotted you already and are on their way to find you. It’d be a shame if you all walked past one another, so why don’t you stay and wait? They’ll eventually come here if you let the servants know.”

Cyril hated his suggestion. “We don’t know for sure if they saw us though; Marianne, I’ll head over there just to make sure, but I’ll let the workers know to send them to ya if I don’t find ’em.”

Marianne’s anxious glance implied that she did not want to simply stand by, but she agreed. Cyril left her behind and swept back through their route and trailed the curtain wall toward the highest tower. The guards that topped the stations ignored him altogether, so he stopped asking whether they’ve seen Hilda or Ashe and scaled the ladder to the top as fast as he could.

But there was only another guardsman at the top.

Cyril inhaled the cold air to settle the boiling blood rising up his neck. Where were they?! He ruffled his hair and scoured along the circumference of the tower wall. This woman was going to be the end of him!

And then, he looked over to the courtyard where his wyvern was tended to, and saw her pink hair.

Hilda.

She was here.

His mind was blank and his body took over. He flew down the ladder, walked through the gatehouse and into the open space. He wanted to scream her name. His legs carried him over to the noise of horses whinnying over the deeper growl of his own beast. The stables were busy with equestrians and boys tending to their routine work. He passed by the haystacks, the well and the stalls, vehemently searching for her bright hair. How hard was it to spot her?

His stride eventually slowed when he got close to the other end of the yard, with the woman nowhere in sight.

He wanted to scream.

“Master Cyril!” Cyril whipped his head around to find a squire calling to him as he jogged closer. “If you are searching for your wyvern, she is being tended to behind the stalls-“

“That’s fine,” Cyril interrupted. “Where did Lord Gaspard and Lady Goneril go?”

“Oh,” the squire glanced around. “I haven’t been told. I lost sight of them.”

Cyril closed his eyes and began counting internally. There was no point repeating the chase all over again. He should return to Marianne and wait. “Thank you.”

The squire had been stiff, waiting to be reprimanded for his inattentiveness, but relaxed when Cyril dismissed him. He was not about to waste his breath even if he had a stern barrage of words ready for him. The little bit of energy that kept him going was drying up and he would rather save it to return to the great hall. He just wanted to be alone. Cyril shuffled back to the great entrance, head sunken low, the staircase seemingly grand in his exhausted state.

“…but even if that is the case, you have to agree that with all that you’ve seen that it’d be a good idea to join us.”

Cyril muffled out the soft voice. Men were always in negotiation no matter where he went, and he wished that for once he didn’t have to stand by to listless talk.

“I don’t know. I don’t see how I would be of any use to you all. You are all such fearsome warriors, and I’d just be in the way.”

Cyril froze. That voice was too sweet to be that of a man. That voice-

“No, Hilda, no one would ever believe you to be a burden. You are one of us no matter what. You stood with us in the hardy times, and that’s what means the most. That’s why I think it’d be wonderful if you- ah!”

Ashe and Hila were standing at the top of the stairs and casually talked next to the doorframe before Ashe saw Cyril and already flew down half the steps to get to him. Cyril could feel his stomach swirling. “Ashe?”

“Cyril! You made it back! How’re you?”

“I’m good,” Cyril said simply. He tried to focus on his friend, but Hilda just overtook his field of vision. Even from afar, he could see how worn down she looked. “Marianne’s safe too.”

“I’m glad to hear it, my friend.” Ashe led him back up. “You must be tired, why don’t we head over to the kitchen?”

They reached the top of the stairs. Cyril’s eyes drifted over to Hilda like a magnet to its pole, unable to shift away without immediately pulling back to her. Her clothes were mismatched and torn and she was covered in bruises. Even her hair that seemed to always be meticulously kept before _and_ after a battle was loosened and ragged. She was beautiful.

“Sure, let’s grab Marianne, she’s waiting in the Great Hall,” he said while staring at Hilda blankly.

“I’ll go find her,” Hilda said stiffly. Her voice was dry. “I want to catch up with her before you boys chat her up.”

Ashe nodded and she excused herself very fast. Cyril exhaled, but his chest still felt constricted.

“How are you doing?” Ashe whispered. Cyril couldn’t look at him. He knew there was a suggestive grin plastered over Ashe’s face.

“Is she okay?” Cyril asked back.

They followed the red carpet to the inside. “It seems so. Hilda’s been back since the bell tolled, but she’s been wandering around the castle without any issues.”

“Glad to hear.”

Somehow he could sense his smirk growing wider and he turned to him. Cyril stared at him unimpressed. “What?”

“Nothing,” Ashe said as they turned to the dining hall. “Just had a long discussion with Hilda.”

“About?”

“Let her tell you that.”

Cyril did not like it that the two seemed to have conspired something, but he weakened at the thought that she willingly wanted to talk to him. It was hard to walk calmly when he wanted to just run to Hilda.

The sweet smell of cake hit them as they walked into the dining hall. Mercedes was plating a batch of pound cake while the maids scurried them over to the knights that crowded the hall.

“Oh, my, you’ve found Ashe!” Mercedes smiled and served them the last two plates. The two men accepted them and told her that Hilda and Marianne were coming in soon. “What perfect timing! I’m going to make my signature chocolate roulade!” She delightfully rolled up her sleeves and retreated to the kitchen, where the waft of chocolate already escaped the oven.

Ashe heard his knights calling him from one of the tables and tugged at Cyril, but he firmly stood near the entrance. Ashe sighed with a smile. “You know they won’t come any faster if you wait there, right?”

“And you also won’t have an excuse not to talk to Marianne either,” Cyril rebutted with a disgruntled look. Ashe stammered incomprehensibly and pulled them over to the other knights for their rounds of tea and cake, which quickly overtook the subject. The innocent gossips flew wild, rampant jokes were tossed like children’s playball, and the stories of beloveds waiting at the doorsteps sweetened the tea ever so more. The lively scene was not enveloping Cyril’s cake though, which became mutilated instead by his fork in cry of Cyril’s own spiraling thoughts around Hilda. How would he talk to her once she came in?

And then, the oldest knight rose up. His deep voice boomed over the table and transfixed them to a moment of his word. The veteran revisited the past with clamors over the hardship he had faced during the cyclical struggle in House Gaspard. The men and women clasped onto their teacups while listening to the tragedy that succumbed to the Lonato family, and silence overtook when the downfall of the Blayddid royalty was mentioned. At the end the Kingdom of Faerghus was not spared either, mostly because they could not separate the strongheaded idealism from the quiet suffering it entailed. The silence simmered onto nearby tables, and then the entire hall was captured.

However, he reminded everyone about the new hope that stood above the ashes. No, he was not speaking of the new archbishop or the Master Tactician- those two did not create the hope, but enabled it to fruition into victory; he was speaking of the people who bravely defied the ruthlessness of the empire when it was clear that they could not survive. He was speaking of the heroes who stood against the marching army to protect their homes against a pride that refused to accept their values. These people, fallen or alive, adamantly clung to a hope that allowed for them all to stand today.

And that hope was that everyone, from old to young, rich to poor, did not need to justify their existence to live as a human. Fodlan would become a new country where no unneeded bloodshed was spilled, justice would be veiled by an impartial eye not ruled by the gods or kings; and the hymn would only be sung to shine on the brilliance of the people.

He then addressed Ashe with a raise of his cup: _he_ was the example of what the new Fodlan represented. The lord of common blood had shown that kindness and empathy could relent even in the coldness of political strives, and he was more proud than ever to have served as a knight. He bowed to his lord, who was stunned by his evocative words. Cyril echoed his gratitude and bowed as well, and slowly all the knights of House Gaspard joined in. Ashe sniffed and rubbed his nose before the tears began to dwell. Ashe promised that he would continue to work hard so that all of them could continue to serve the country with no regrets.

\+ + +

The bell rang for the closure of the kitchen and the two girls did not show. Mercedes confirmed as such while staring at the two pieces she set aside for them. She considered personally delivering them, but it was almost time for her prayer. Cyril immediately volunteered to do it for her and walked out with the cakes with Ashe chuckling by his side.

Just as they walked through the door they bumped into Lorenz, who was rushing past with a group of people holding plans. Lorenz spotted Ashe and immediately pulled him along with rushed words about a last opportunity to plan, and like a whirlwind Cyril watched them sweep by with Ashe dragged into the distance.

“They’re all working so hard. Hopefully tomorrow won’t be so bad,” Mercedes said from behind him. He turned to her and raised her brow.

“Whaddaya mean? What’s happening?”

Mercedes sighed. “We’re sending troops to fight Those Who Slither in The Dark in their hiding place. I’m not sure of all the details, but it sounds like this would be it.”

Cyril digested the news. Maybe they were all in a rush for more plans with the information Marianne had brought. “Where’re they meeting?”

“Same place we did last time. Well, I should go!” Mercedes said while lazily strolling out to the church house.

Since Cyril didn’t know where Hilda or Marianne could be, Cyril ended up following the rush that led to the meeting room. One of his Gaspard peers told him that only the lords were meeting so he probably couldn’t join, so Cyril asked whether they saw Marianne and Hilda entering. They confirmed Marianne, yes, but that Hilda was not by her side. Apparently she snuck off to her room with the excuse of feeling sick.

Remembering where the guest rooms were from his previous run around the castle, he turned back to it excitedly, only to realize that he didn’t know which room she would be in. He was getting annoyed with himself and his thoughtless flailing. At least he knew Lysithea was in Lorenz’s chamber from passing by earlier, so he called her from outside her door.

She opened immediately and stared at him in surprise. “What are you doing here?!”

“Hey,” Cyril said. Lysithea immediately stared at the roulade he was holding. He shrugged. “They were for Hilda and Marianne, but they never showed.”

“Then I’ll claim them!” She snatched one piece off the plate and bit into one before Cyril could add another word. “You don’t know how hungry I am!”

“Might as well have the other one too.”

“You’re amazing! They missed out!” She wolfed down the other one.

“So…whatcha doing here? Weren’t you in Garreg Mach?” Cyril asked while stacking the two plates.

“Hmm, yea. I was coming with the Knights of Seiros, but had a head start teleporting Hilda over.” She smacked her lips and squeezed out the cream from the gaps between her teeth.

“I see. So ya know where she’s at?”

Her sharp eyes looked up. “You haven’t found her?”

“Kinda?” Cyril frowned and sighed deeply. “I bumped into her at the front and then she disappeared. She in her room?”

There was a hint of anger flaring in her eyes. “Probably. I’ll come with you.”

“Wha- no, there’s no need for ya to-“

“Shut up. I’m tired of her acting. I’m putting an end to it.” She stomped out of her room, slammed the door shut, and strutted over to the end of the hall. Cyril anxiously followed her and shrunk back when she started banging against the door.

“HILDA! OPEN THE DOOR RIGHT NOW!”

Oh no, she was causing a scene. “Lys, ain’t that too much?”

“I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! IF YOU DON’T OPEN THE DOOR I’LL PULVERIZE IT!”

“I don’t think she’s in there…”

“I’LL GIVE YOU ONE LAST CHANCE! THREE, TWO, ONE-“

“Alright, alright!” Hilda opened the door to find the fiery warlock at stand with a Luna spell. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

Cyril’s heart slammed through his ribs. Oh gods, he finally found her. The excitement caused a tremor in him, which slowly sunk into a twist of anxiety as he watched her from the side. He wanted to run away from here.

“Hilda. You promised me something,” Lysithea disintegrated the spell and tapped her foot instead.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not feeling so well, so can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“No.”

“But I’m on my period.”

“Don’t throw these unicorn blessings at me. I know you’ve been using herbs for years.”

“…What is it?”

Lysithea grinned and slanted her head to the side to point at Cyril, who nervously flattened against the wall. “Get back here.”

Hilda kept her eyes on Lysithea but the widened eyes were hard to miss. He felt like a hare out in the open meadows, an easy prey for an instant kill. He took a deep breath. “Hey.”

Hilda collected herself but refused to look at him. “Hey.”

Lysithea watched Cyril impatiently as he shuffled his way forward. She tugged him by the arm to prompt him into the room, to which Hilda quickly obliged after Lysithea threatened her with a glare. However, they firmly set themselves near the exit, so she conjured another ominous spell to shoo them further in until they were at a satisfying distance, and then she clutched it away.

Lysithea placed her arm on her hip and shifted her other hand onto the door, and a translucent glow began to coat the entire piece and its frame. “It’s about time you two talked it out. I’m going to lock the room so you can’t run. The spell will last one hour. Is that clear?”

“What?!” Hilda shouted, but the second she moved, Lysithea slammed the door shut. Hilda wrestled with the knob with no success. “Lysithea! You can’t do this! This is wrong!”

There was no response. No giggle, no snarky comeback. Cyril was surprised and impressed by Lysithea’s firmness to not answer, but when he noticed that even the foot traffic in the background was gone he realized that that wasn’t the case. She had shut them in along with all the sounds. 

Blood rushed to his face and he could hear his own pulse beating against his ear.

Lysithea could be too devious sometimes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! We're finally getting somewhere!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda apologizes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, whopping 3,500 words and an art to contribute to this cornerstone! Happy Holidays!

Hilda stared at the shimmering door with intense animosity. She couldn’t believe that in mere minutes the white haired loudmouth managed to not only usurp her quiet time but also push her into the emotional spiral she tried escaped from. Her first sight of Cyril safe at the courtyard did not only bring in relief but also opened the floodgates to overwhelming sensations that would have paralyzed her if she stayed any longer- so of course she used Marianne as an excuse to escape from the scene at the front entrance.

But when she did find Marianne in the halls with Sylvain, her beloved friend immediately broke down in tears and held onto Hilda as if worried she’d disappear again. It felt tone deaf to talk about her crush when Marianne had feared for Hilda’s life, so she ended up listening to her journey to the cave instead. Sylvain, no more helpful than ever, directed the conversation into a political one once he heard about the mirror, and he decided that it was relevant enough that he had to sling Marianne into another forced meeting with the others. Hilda was exhausted from the constant whiplash of conversations- she didn’t even remember when she last got rest- and used the chance to disappear to her guestroom, apologizing to her best friend as she smuggled herself out of the crowd and freed herself from the terrible looking boots.

How ironic then that Cyril was trapped in here with her. Hilda’s grip on the door knob whitened her knuckles. One hour. There was no way she could wait it out for so long while avoiding him. She tried to calm her heart, but there was nothing she could think of to distract her when he was right there.

“Why are you holding plates?” Hilda tried casually, not daring to turn around.

“Oh, uhh, I brought some cake, but Lys ate them.” There was some clatter as he placed them on top of the desk drawer. “Mercedes made ‘em.”

_So he decided to hang out with Lysithea instead of looking for me._ Just thinking about her unreasonable jealousy made her feel vile. _No_ , she thought, _it made sense that they were eating cake together; they were friends_. He didn’t even know where Hilda’s room was until now. “Must have tasted good,” she muttered to the door.

“Yeah, I kinda brought them for you and Marianne, but I couldn’t find ya. And it’s kinda hard to stop Lys when the cakes were right in front of her.” There was a nervous chuckle.

All she could gather from that answer was that those two were close enough that he could call her with an endearing nickname. Why was she being like that? Hilda shook the thoughts off and turned around but couldn’t brave facing him, so stared at the other side of the room. “There was no helping it. Sorry for not showing up in the kitchen.”

He shrugged. He was leaning against the furniture. “It’s alright. Ya not hungry?”

_I’m hungry for you_. Oh goddess, she wanted to groan at her own reaction. Hilda did not think she’d actually be desperate. She shrugged instead. “It’s rather late, it’d only upset my stomach if I ate now.”

Cyril frowned. “That’s no good. I can grab some food for ya after the door unlocks.”

Hilda leaned back against the said door. “There’s still an hour though.”

Cyril stared at her and slouched back.

Hilda closed her eyes.

One hour.

“I’m sorry.”

Cyril tilted his head. “Huh?”

Hilda inhaled and opened her eyes. This was it. “For running off back in the monastery. It must have been confusing with how I was behaving.”

Cyril paused. “Yeah. It was.”

So blunt. “So I’m sorry. For putting you in that position.”

There was no answer. Hilda couldn’t bear the silence and finally looked at him. He was looking back at her carefully, calculating her answer.

“Why’re ya apologizing?” He asked slowly.

That was the ultimate question, wasn’t it? She pressed further back against the door as if she could melt into it. “Do I have to spell it out?”

A pause. “Yeah.”

Hilda squirmed. “You’re not giving me the easy way out, huh?”

Cyril stood up. “Of course not; come on, Hilda! Ya do one thing but say something else right after. I dunno what to make of it. Can’t ya just be straight with me?”

Hilda gaped at him. “I…“ The words were stuck in her throat. She wanted to appease him, because the pain was clear even through his firm voice… but he sounded so _provocative_. Why did it make her chest rise?

“Please.” He was walking closer.

She couldn’t look at him. He was too close. “…I got cold feet.”

He frowned and stopped a foot away from her. “Why?”

The fragrance of sweet cake lingered all over him. She had her lips knitted together, but an answer was needed. She gulped, not daring to pry her eyes away from the floor. “I was scared that I would leave you.”

The air felt thicker. There was a finger stroking her cheek, so fine and gentle that it was like a ghost lightly drifting over her skin. She looked up and saw his soft expression under the furrowed brows. “But ya did anyway,” he said.

“You got me there.” Disregarding everything she told herself, Hilda instinctively leaned into the hand that was asking for her touch. There was something so comforting about feeling his calloused palm again. “But I’ve never stayed with anyone for too long. I mean, you’ve seen me,” she chuckled nervously. “I date men like they’re breakfast.”

“Hmm,” Cyril seemed unaffected. “Then why is this different?” 

“I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Why?” His thumb lightly traced the line of her chin.

Hilda sighed at his touch. “You’re… you’re too important to me.”

His thumb drifted over her lips, his hooded eyes watching her lightly kiss it back.

“I want you though,” he whispered.

He said it. Oh goddess, he said it. Hilda tried to repress the fear and excitement flourishing in her chest. “What if it doesn’t work out?” She whispered back.

“Then I’ll find a way to make it work.” There was no hesitation.

“What if you get annoyed with me?”

Cyril smirked. “You say that as if I never am, silly.”

Hilda smiled shyly. All her witty remarks have fallen short at that moment. Before she could say anything more though he stepped closer. Into her intimate space.

“Can I kiss you?”

How could she say no? His voice was so dauntingly sweet under the wisp of his touch; Hilda could only nod. Cyril cupped her face. His hands were shaky this time. She placed her hand over his for comfort, but she wasn’t any steadier.

“Cyril…”

He drew closer with a low hum in response. Carnelian eyes. They began to hypnotize her again. She lifted her chin so that their noses brushed. His lips grazed over hers lightly, and it was enough to shoot fires down her stomach.

This felt right.

She pecked back in return. He responded softly at first but with each fluttering kiss he pressed firmer. The brush of his beard was rough, but to her they felt like the crackles flying off of sparking flints. His loose hair teasingly stroked her eyes and cheeks as he angled himself over her. They got closer until they were chest to chest. The rising temperature was clouding her senses.

Hilda let go of his hands and traced his arm, feeling the hard-roped muscles that tensed under her touch. He licked her upper lip and her legs almost wobbled. This feeling wasn’t the same as last time. She wanted him, yes, but this time it was more than spontaneity. The hunger she felt was deeper. She liked him. She really liked him. 

Hilda pulled him in and took over by parting his mouth and playing with his tongue. She was so engrossed that she didn’t realize that she grabbed onto his hair or that there was a tight grip on her lower back. Her breasts pressed against him; she shifted her waist up against his tightness; she was spiraling into a fiery pit.

“Cyril.”

She pulled his head back and savoured the desire so clearly placated across his face.

He held her tighter. “Please don’t stop,” he gasped in a raspy low voice. 

There was a tremor in her core. She didn’t realize his voice could go so deep.

“Cyril.” She bit her lip. She lifted one of her legs up to support against the door wall, and he held onto her thigh. “I want you too.”

She felt his chest heave against her before he crashed into her mouth. She hit her head on the door but ignored it, pulling him by the base of his neck to assure him that she was fine. She sighed deeply as he lovingly sifted from lip to tongue and she sucked onto his lower lip. He hissed and dove in once more. They studied each other’s kisses and molded around it, their touches fervently brushing around to explore these feelings they couldn’t let go of. His grip onto her thigh tightened, and she felt the hardness press against her skirt. The friction was inviting and she pushed back for more, the grinding building up into rounds of passion. But no, she didn’t want this to be just a repeat of the mountain side. She slowed quickly when the folds of her skirt began to shimmy up.

“Cyril, can I…?” Hilda asked in gasps, but they were indecipherable under the wonderful kisses he enraptured her with. She slipped out the question once more at a moment’s gap.

“Anything you want,” he muttered while stealing more kisses.

She held onto his shoulder. “Can I see you with your shirt off?”

That stopped him in his tracks. He stared at her stunned.

“What’s wrong?” Hilda asked. It wasn’t like she didn’t see him shirtless before, although that was in a war period against the empire where everyone was washing and changing in torn up campsites, and acknowledging Cyril’s scarred body was nowhere in her priorities back then.

“I, uh,” Cyril was completely frozen. “I just realized that this is actually happening.”

She eyed him softly and began shimmying off his jacket. “What are you saying, silly? Did our trip to the mountains not count?”

Cyril tossed the jacket aside but held onto the hem of his shirt as Hilda tried to tuck it up. “That was different.”

“How so?” Hilda asked, trying to take a peek by wrestling the shirt up. Ugh, there was a chainmail shirt underneath. Damn soldiers.

“That was in the heat of the moment, Hilda. Now…I was kinda hoping this was going somewhere.”

“So you don’t want to do this?” She asked.

“I do…,” he blushed. “I don’t know if I look okay.” She raised a brow at him, and he stammered through his elaboration. “I know I look different. I’m dark, and I dunno if I should’ve shaved…”

“I’m fine with that,” Hilda said simply. “But if you’re not comfortable…,” she let go of her shirt and unclasped her coat, “I can start.”

“Hilda,” Cyril choked and stared. She dropped the torn up coat and rolled her bare shoulders and watched deviously as he bobbed his Adam’s apple. _Ah_ , the sight of an innocent man who never witnessed a woman’s body. With a smirk she pushed him gently back so she could step forward. She reached for the hem of her shoulder-bare sweater, licked her lips seductively and slowly rippled it up while flaunting her curves, leaving her only with her underlying corset. She swaggered forward and around Cyril, touting each step with strong sways and drifting him over to the bedside.

“Come here,” she sung invitingly.

It was like a state of hypnosis with the way he drifted to her. Cyril set his arms on the bed on either side of her and simply simmered over their close proximity.

“You like what you see?” Hilda bit her lip and pushed her chest out, eyes hooded as she soaked in the heat radiating off of him.

“Hmm-mm,” Cyril hummed in a low voice and nuzzled her cheek. Hilda sighed and craned her neck as an offer that he lavishly accepted with his mouth. His lips moved from jawline to collarbone so succulently that they weakened her enough to inch back onto the mattress.

“Cyril…”

His hands graced the sides of her waist and steadied onto a hold so that he could hoist her further back into the bed.

“Hold on.” Hilda stopped him with a nudge to lean back. She inched closer to the edge and with Cyril’s help, slipped her skirt off and moved it out of their way. Now that she was in her undergarment she watched him drink in the sight with curiosity.

“I need your help with this part.” She teased the thighs her skirt had hid but Cyril was too busy calculating the contraption holding her stockings together.

“How do I-?” he began to ask, but Hilda already led his hands over to her garter belt. He bit his lip while she directed him in unclasping the thigh strap, and moved to her other leg.

At first her plan was to take off her corset, but she felt so liberated with the restraint gone that she automatically stretched her back with a sigh. Cyril used the chance to push her back onto the bed, pinning her arms on each side and kissing her throat.

“I’m not done yet,” Hilda pouted.

“I know, but I can’t help it.” He began sucking.

Hilda squirmed. “You’re doing it wrong.”

That stopped him in a panic, and in that pause Hilda flipped him over and strutted over his stomach. “Ah well, it is a good thing I’m willing to give you another demonstration.”

She slowly stretched over him and began her kiss mark on his neck. He grunted and held onto the bedsides with a grip that strained folds into the sheets. Hilda began rounding her hip into him and the movement dragged his shirt and chainmail up. She smiled into his throat as she finally felt his bare stomach and nuzzled against his beard. There was something masculine under the scent of cake that tingled her core. She didn’t know why he smelled so delicious to her, but she needed more. 

Hilda licked his lip and he instinctively opened his mouth for a deep kiss. “Cyril, can I take your shirt off?”

His chest rose against her. “Okay.”

With another peck she shifted her way down and finally saw a glimpse of his body. His hair fanned out from his hem like a tease, but it was his deep v-line that made her drop her jaw. Her hand slowly traced them from the front up to his hips, bringing shivers out of him, and with that motion she slowly lifted his chainmail and shirt higher up.

Hilda couldn’t help but curse. His defined muscles, darkened by his chest hair and laced with scars along the torso, pulled her hands away from his clothes to relish his actual skin. This was better than what her imagination concocted from feeling him up in the past. She rubbed her thumb against his dark nipples and felt the vibration coming from his low groan.

Hilda couldn’t help but whimper his name. Oh, how she had wasted her time when she could have had this sooner. She quickly pulled his shirt completely off and didn’t spare a second to ravish it all with intrusive touching and sloppy kisses. She needed to take in every bit of his skin, feel the outline of every muscle contorting against her touch, but they would not be enough; each movement elicited long restrained sounds of pleasures out of him, and feeling the purr against her palms stirred her cravings to go stronger and stronger. 

Cyril finally let go of the bed sheet and grabbed her thighs. His grip dug deeply, forcing her to look up to find him stare at her with brandishing eyes.

“It’s your turn to take your clothes off,” he rumbled.

_That voice again._ Hilda bit her lips. “Alright.” She lauded that she had to let go of the endearing heat between them but she pushed his hands aside to get off of him, a sacrifice that was well needed for the next part. She knelt on the empty space of the bed with her back to him. She tugged her hair over her shoulder to reveal the tightly interwoven lace holding her corset together. “I’ll need your help then.”

Cyril was amazingly compliant. He quietly shuffled over and tried to work his way with the contraption, his fingers nimbly weaving through the laces with no complaint. Hilda’s previous men would usually have some comments about the barrier, sometimes even try to violently tear it off with little success, so she’d quip in a joke to lighten their frustration… but Cyril took this bewilderingly well. Having him so close though she could take in the musk emanating from his skin, and it made it hard for her to sit still. All she could do was lean over to steal a quick kiss.

“You’re doing great, Cyril,” she cheered as she felt the corset starting to loosen.

“I had some practice in the monastery,” he muttered. “Nuns who snuck out at night called me for help to take it off before dawn ‘cuz they knew I wouldn’t tell. Not that anyone would believe me.”

Hilda had to grimace at the image of a blushing underdeveloped teenage boy being in that scenario. “Must have been a lot seeing a bare woman at the beginning of the day.”

“Nah, they shooed me off once I got it loosened enough.” He finally unraveled it enough that she began unhooking the front. “They got a bit… weird when I got older, but at that point I just leave and they got the message.”

“I’m glad you cut it off before you got too uncomfortable then.” She adjusted the corset at the front. “Thank you.”

Cyril was surprisingly quiet; there was only the soft ‘thud’ of the corset dropping over the bedside. But before she could turn she felt him press against her back and his arms wrap around her stomach. His chest hair prickled against her skin. His heartbeat was thrumming softly.

“Cyril?” Hilda tilted her head over and her mouth was captured. He was passionately overpowering her and it took all her strength to sit upright. One of his hands wandered over her naked breast and she sighed into his mouth. She placed her hand over his to direct his thumb over her nipple.

“You know you can look as well, right?” Hilda breathed in-between their kisses.

“I do,” Cyril glanced from her shoulder, “but...”

He began sucking her neck while circling her nipple as taught. Hilda squirmed and twisted herself around so she could bare everything to him. “No need to be nervous, Cyril. It’s the least you deserve for getting my corset off so nicely.” She paused and continued in a low voice. “And I want you to see me.”

Cyril obliged, not that a plead was needed when her heaving chest sinned with warmth so closely against him. All his pained restraints broke down with a curse escaping his breath, and with his arm still tightly wrapped around her, he tilted her back against his forearm and began pecking her chin, her neck, her collarbone, slowly travelling to her sternum snug between her large breasts. Hilda squirmed with delight when his tight arm lowered her closer and closer to the bed.

His massage on her breast was not enough. The kisses lingered so close to her heartbeat but like a tease he wouldn’t dare move further. She caressed his cheek and gently nudged him in. He obliged with a kiss on her breast and it whisked an airy sigh out of them both. Cyril felt so good on her. She mewled when the warm tongue finally brushed over her nipple. A long sweep, and then the suction when he closed in with his mouth- yes, he was a blessed to be a fast learner, with aggravating strength and flexibility that would have the potential to break her once he polished his technique. Regardless, the him at this moment was more than enough. He was clumsy in a way only a loving man discovering a new side of him could be, and it was delightful.

Cyril pulled back up and tugged her to his chest while he recovered his breath. Even the simple feeling of his chest was driving her wild. She tilted her head to kiss his beard line, and he kissed her back sweetly.

Hilda pursed her lips. He was so firm and soft, and his smell…She needed more, and more and more. She rubbed her back against him with eagerness and he clamped her down by wrapping his arms around her. She loved the feeling of their naked skin against each other, but it wasn’t enough.

“Cyril.”

She grabbed his arm that rested on her breast, and pushed it downward between her legs.

Cyril froze.

Hilda gripped his hand. “I want you to touch me.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the two begin to explore

Cyril couldn’t believe that this was happening. Every movement he pushed through was stifled with second guesses, but Sylvain’s lesson from a few nights ago steadied him enough that he didn’t stumble. He focused on those words and recreated them tactfully, touching her with sincerity wherever she asked, and while he believed that he could fare better with his grace, Hilda responded with such heat that it instinctively spurned him to do more.

But mother of all nature, he was not prepared for how beautiful she was.

Cyril knew that Hilda had much to offer, but it was different to see her without the perfectly assembled wear- his heart stopped in one moment and hammered in the next, but feeling her in his arms brought sensations in his body he did not know he had. Her hair splayed over her skin in a delicious web, clinging and tangling as they shifted over the mattress. Her blush rose and spread over her milky skin wherever he touched. And her voice- Cyril singed with lust with each of her whimpers and sighs, he feared he’d suffocate her with how hungrily he kissed her. Her naked curves unleashed a primal side of him that overtook his awkward handling and allowed his hands to glide over her body with confidence. Cyril spent each moment cherishing her touch, her sound, and begged that his greed would not overcome him. 

But when he felt the fabric below, everything stopped.

His hand sat there stiffly against Hilda’s palm, and his eyes pierced into nothingness. All he heard was his own pulse slowly tempering against his ears.

“Cyril.”

He felt Hilda’s lips grazing his cheek and he turned to her. Her doe eyes soft against her blush, she kissed him on his lips. 

Her hand led his fingers underneath the cloth, and he felt soft, thick hair. And then there was warmth and moistness. It felt so… strange.

“Press your finger.”

He lightly pressed into what felt like a nub. Hilda shivered against him, then shuffled herself closer to his lap and adjusted him so his palm fit perfectly over her.

“Try again.”

He obeyed, and heard a hitch in her breath. “Yes, like that. Keep going.”

Cyril began rolling his fingers against her in continuous waves, and with each dive her back arched more against him. To think that he could induce that kind of reaction out of her, with her breasts fondly rising up whenever he pressed in. They were so alluring, and clearly so with their voluptuous size that taught him early on in puberty what his keen desires were, that he instinctively grabbed his fill with his free hand.

“Ah.”

She gasped for breath and rolled her rear against him. She kept pushing him to continue while he began feeling moisture coating his fingers. It was fascinating to say the least, but his curiosity was struck to silence when she began whispering his name. “Cyril~”

Oh fuck, why was hearing his name like this so beautiful?

With her free arm she pulled him into a deep kiss, and she inhaled soundly into his mouth just as he stroked into her. He hitched his breath. How could this be so arousing?

“Faster. _Please._ ”

Of course he would, he wanted to hear more. The faster movement propelled a long airy breath out of her. He was hypnotized by her sight as her head rolled back against his shoulder, mouth agape, eyes glazing. Her chest was heaving to the rhythm he had set, her arm clinging to him tightly as her voice rose to a string of escalating gasps. She sounded so desperate that his intensifying touches stoked her to go louder and louder, crying for an agonizing love only he could fulfill, and then she moaned, so hard and with deep-hearted passion that it still rang in his ears when she finally collapsed.

Cyril pulled his hand out and curiously rubbed his thumb against his fingers. The slickness didn’t feel the same as what would come out of him, but he was able to connect it back to his understanding (embarrassingly taught by Shamir and Manuela) that it was a good indication that even her body reacted to him with pleasure. Not that he needed that assurance when Hilda was resting on his lap in heaves, naked except for her briefs and stockings.

The more challenging part was when the focus was shifted to _him_. Still flushed and gasping for breath, Hilda shuffled around so that she faced him and knelt fittingly between his legs. He was able to distract himself with pleasuring her so far, but now there was no ignoring the erection pushing against his pants, especially when her eyes were staring at it.

She glanced up before removing the belt. He watched her quietly as she tugged his pants and trousers below his waist. He was about to take them off completely, but Hilda impatiently wrapped her hand around his cock and pulled it out. Cyril stifled against her hold. He felt himself pulse within her grasp, and he knew he couldn’t hold it in for too long.

“You look so much better up close,” she said drunkenly. He wasn’t sure what it meant, and he had no chance to ponder when jolts shot up his body – she was not just holding him at grasp, pulling his foreskin down and exposing him to the warm air- her other hand began exploring further below and fondled him with her devilish fingers. He groaned, grabbed Hilda by her shoulders and watched as some white already escaped his tip.

Hilda tilted her head up and brushed her nose against him. “I’m not done with you yet, handsome.”

Time decided to slow its moving hand that very moment. Her pink, glossy eyes were transfixed on him as she shifted herself back so she could bend down, lower and lower, a smile slowly forming in her lips as she faced his cock. She parted her mouth and her tongue began gliding over his shaft, light at first as she assessed his reaction, then harder as she licked her way up to the tip. Cyril barred himself from making any sound in fear of releasing his climax then and there. He was so close. His grab on her tightened instead.

“Don’t close your eyes, Cyril. Look at me.”

Cyril opened his eyes that he didn’t realize he had squeezed shut. Hilda’s eyes were pinned on him. With her tongue still out, she enveloped his length with her mouth.

He groaned hard. This feeling, it was different from mere hand pumping. The friction from her tongue, the suction of her lips, and the warmth of her mouth that wrapped him entirely- the euphoric spikes shot into him so rapidly that his mind shattered.

_Fuck._

When he recovered he saw Hilda coughing while he was still spurting over her lap. Shit, did he just-?

“Ah,” Hilda rasped and she jumped off to the bedside table to retrieve some water.

Cyril felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “I-I’M SO SORRY!” He jumped forward and picked up his shirt from the floor and reached for Hilda after she cleared her cup. “I dunno know what happened there!”

He tried to clean the semen off her chin, but she laughed and pushed his shirt away. “Relax, don’t ruin your shirt!”

“But it’s all over you! I gotta clean it out!” Cyril stammered with his arm hanging awkwardly around. What was he supposed to do in this situation?

Hilda wiped her chin, her stomach and her thighs with her hands and stared at the sheen. “This? Why would I?” In one long motion she licked it off with a playful smile. “It’s my reward.”

Cyril stared at her, flabbergasted. Did she… just eat his cum? She didn’t look disturbed by it at all. Now that he was fully conscious again, he realized she had tasted his member too. Was that normal? Was he supposed to have licked his fingers after touching her? But that seemed so gross!

Hilda wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. “Plus, I’m really flattered that you reacted so well to me.”

She stood on her toes and was about to kiss him, but he backed away from her. She raised her brow questioningly.

“Uh, you… your mouth…,” Cyril muttered with cold sweat. “You still have… stuff… on you.”

Hilda stared at him and wiped her lips with her tongue. “No biggie.”

“Isn’t it… weird?”

She giggled. “Oh, come on. Why would it be weird to taste our sex?”

Huh. Somehow that was so clarifying it made him realize that it might not be so abnormal after all. And she said it out loud. They had sex. Sort of, yes, but it was a union real enough that it broiled his heart.

He rested his hands on her lower back. “I guess it’s all still new to me. I’ll need some time to get used to it.”

“Of course.” She puckered her lips closer to his. He shyly kissed her. “And? Wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

Cyril grimaced. “I suppose. Still weird.”

Hilda giggled and risked a deeper kiss that he slowly allowed after some pressuring on her end. He fell back onto the bed and she embraced her position to nestle into his arms.

“This is nice,” Hilda said while sinking into his neck.

“Yeah.” Cyril wrapped his arms around her. She was comfortably warm, and he loved the feeling of their skin against each other. Even after he’d cooled down, he didn’t want to let go of her. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”

He heard her hum in agreement and found her glancing up.

“I’m just saying,” he added, “just an hour ago I didn’t even know if you wanted me. It feels…”

“Surreal?” Hilda hovered over him and he watched her pale complexion get doused in soft candle light. She stroked his beard. “Same. I didn’t expect you to have forgiven me.”

“How could I forgive you? You made me chase you across Fodlan,” Cyril frowned.

“And wasn’t that worthwhile?” She smirked back.

“I dunno,” he lightly kissed her. “I’m still debating if I should make ya do the same.”

“You jerk!”

He basked in her summery laughter and pulled her up so it could fill his mouth as well. Their lips were playing against each other in a featherlike dance that slowly grew heated when they introduced their tongues, slipping tenderly for a desire that wished for more than just teasing circles. Their curious tasting turned into voracious dives to fill the little space that separated them and they plummeted into primitive pants and huffs when they could no longer express themselves. Cyril hated that he had to let go for breath every few seconds and compensated by pressing against her firmer, loving the luscious way she clung to him from lip to body.

“Cyril-“

His hand travelled across her back and explored the bruises and scars texturing her skin.

“Cyril~”

Her legs wrangled around his thighs. She was so small.

“Cyril!”

Hilda grabbed his face.

“What?”

“I hear footsteps.”

It was amazing how quickly the cold could seep into your spine. The door! Had it been an hour already? He sat up against his elbow and secured Hilda on his lap. “You think anyone would come in?”

They both stared at the door and listened to the rush of people passing by. The muffled sound was buzzing with layers, so he had to assume that the meeting was over and everyone was heading to bed. Hilda knelt a hand against his chest as they waited out the noise.

And then there was a knock.

“Shit,” Hilda hissed. They instinctively jumped off of each other, Hilda immediately grabbing her skirt and Cyril his belt. Cyril rolled over the bed away from the door while Hilda scrambled to get the bed sheet over her.

“Hilda? Are you awake?” The dainty voice asked.

“Marianne?”

Cyril hissed in annoyance that Hilda answered back. Hilda must have realized her mistake as well, because she followed up with a fake yawn and asked if she could come the next morning.

But Cyril heard a creak. “Sorry, I just wanted to see you before I head to bed.” Marianne said while walking in. He could not suppress the panic when he was wedged between the bedside and wall and tried to buckle his belt as quietly as possible. He did not want Marianne to see him in this situation, especially when he just got familiar with her!

“That’s sweet of you. You need something?” Hilda asked.

“No. It’s just…I had been so worried since you were kidnapped and I didn’t get to see you properly because of that meeting. I just wanted to talk.” There was a light gasp and a sudden thud when she closed the door behind her.

“Hilda, is…someone else in here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For someone who hadn't written something as explicit like the last two chapters before I hope I did well? 
> 
> And then again, I made poor Marianne walk into this, so I suppose I deserve whatever's thrown at me haha


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Hilda makes a confession

Hilda sighed and sat upright against the headboard with the sheet wrapped around her. It wasn’t as if this was a frequent occurrence, but Marianne used to come by her room in the mornings to wake her for class and later for council meetings, and sometimes it entailed cleaning her up from a late night gathering. Looking at the chaotic surrounding and the smell of sex, it was clear that her friend walked into another one of those uncomfortable encounters. However, she was a healer, and Marianne built herself to act neutrally in any scenario, so her immediate reaction was to approach this with tact.

“Hilda, is… someone else in here?"

Hilda peeked over her shoulder and saw Cyril’s head bob while he was busy securing his belt. “Weeell…”

Marianne nodded apologetically. “I’ll come tomorrow morning then.”

“Wait, Marianne!” Hilda shouted and shot her arm forward. Marianne stopped mid-turn. _What am I doing?!_ “I suppose while you’re here, I… I do want to confess something.”

Marianne hesitated, and Hilda wrangled her brain on how to approach this. Yes, this was a terribly awkward situation for her best friend to walk into, but this might be the only time for Hilda to finally share her feelings since Marianne would be busy with the battle preparations in the morning.

“Remember the wedding we attended?” Hilda began.

Marianne raised a brow at the random question. “Do you mean Lysithea’s?”

Hilda nodded. “You surely remember what I promised you there?”

“That you wanted to have your wedding five times larger than that?”

“Well, yea, that too. But the other one.”

Marianne thought about it and finally blushed. “We’d find ourselves a partner during the reception.”

Hilda smiled shyly and dug herself deeper into the bed sheet. “So it turned out to be true.”

A pause. “But you said that all the ones you danced with were not meeting your standards.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing; I didn’t actually dance with him there.”

That confused Marianne even more. She played with her braid while searching the floor for answers. “But he was there, you say?”

“Uh-huh. Just not on the dance floor.”

“Is it Cyril?”

Hilda gaped in shock. “Okay, I did not think you’d have figured that out so fast. Was it that obvious?”

Marianne smiled innocently. “Well, it’s more from what I gathered in the last few days, especially with the way he reacted when we heard of your disappearance. He panicked and was the first to volunteer to search for you.”

Hilda felt her heart leap. “He did?”

Marianne smiled a bit wider. “Yes. Cyril tried to hide it, but he was clearly smitten with you. It was very obvious during our mission and when we searched the castle for you.”

“Oh wow…” Hilda took another peek to the bedside. “But…how did you know he’d be here?”

Marianne nodded at Cyril’s jacket at the corner. Hilda giggled.

“I guess the truth has been revealed. Cyril, why don’t you come out?” Hilda reached for him.

But his head sank away from her grasp. “No. This is stupid. I’m not coming out like this.”

Hilda scoffed. “Cyril!”

“No!”

“Marianne’s waiting to say hi!”

“Hilda,” Marianne interjected. “It’s okay, we can talk about this tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah Hilda, let’s talk about this tomorrow!”

“Come on, Cyril!” Hilda whined. “Tomorrow we’ll all be too busy, and who knows what the battle will be like! With the way this had been going we don’t know when we’ll get to sit down together again! Marianne has to be the first one to know!”

“Your logic is absolutely stupid!” Cyril whipped his head around whirled his hands in the air. “I ain’t talking to Marianne like this! We’re half-naked for one thing!”

Unfortunately for him, his head popped out in his erratic outburst and he got caught in Marianne’s line of sight. He sunk back down and muffled a hello.

Marianne responded with a giggle. Hilda felt thrilled to see them finally interact- while she herself spent so much time with each of them, Marianne and Cyril rarely exchanged words in Garreg Mach. It wasn’t as if they despised each other’s presence (at least as far as she knew), but they just never overlapped their time to go further than superficial acknowledgment.

Hilda watched Marianne glide over to open the window. The sounding night bugs washed in with the cooling breeze, a soothing background to the soft giggles when Marianne turned back to them. “Well I am happy for you both.”

With the somehow lightened atmosphere Cyril built enough courage to poke Hilda and ask for his shirt. With a light teasing remark she picked it off the ground and handed it to him.

“You’re not planning to leave, are you?” Hilda asked.

Cyril slipped his head through the shirt. “Well yea. Marianne needs to heal ya anyway, so I should head out.”

Marianne widened her eyes. “Hilda, you’ve not been treated yet?”

Hilda scoffed. “Uh, no, there’s no need. And Cyril, you’re staying.”

Cyril got up and fought off Hilda when she tried to latch onto him. “Marianne, she got bruises on her back, and her legs are roughed up too.”

“I’m fine!” Hilda whined when Cyril dragged himself off. “Marianne, say something!”

“I would have to agree with Cyril; I heard from Sylvain that you went through painful events. I’d feel better if I take a look at you.”

“You’re both so dull!” She pouted and pulled the sheet over herself in protest. All she wanted was a moment of listless fun, especially after what they all had to bear through. She heard the two of them sigh and felt a hand patting her head over the blanket. When she slipped her head out she found Cyril leaning over.

He was frowning. “Please, Hilda. Ya gotta heal properly, so it’s best if Marianne checks on ya.” Hilda pouted some more before she nodded. “Good. I’ll see ya tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

She watched him collect the remainder of his clothes and thank Marianne with a shy grimace. He sheepishly looked back at Hilda one more time before leaving the room. The thud of the closing door cracked open her inner excitement and she squealed through her clumsy tantrums under the bed sheet.

She popped her head out with a childishly bright smile. “I can’t believe he was in my room! O gosh, Marianne, this had been so weird! I thought I just wanted him because he turned out so… _fine,_ but it’s more than that! Ugh, I didn’t think my heart would hammer so!”

“You like him that much?” Marianne sat on the bedside.

Hilda peeled herself out of the sheet and snuggled against Marianne’s shoulders. “I think so.”

Hilda was sniveling over the revelation while Marianne studied the cuts and bruises blotting her back. “Tell me all of it. I haven’t seen you so excited in a while.”

“Oh I don’t understand it myself. We met in Garreg Mach at the beginning of the Great Tree Moon and we immediately had to hold back from salivating over each other.”

The touch of Marianne’s hand glided over with silken light while Hilda began recounting all her times with this older Cyril. The waves of healing settled over her skin and cooled the stinging she didn’t realize she had. Gathering the words pulled her back into the stalls where his back was surrounded by the stacks of hay and horses. He was a friend who welcomed her back to a time she lost to her adulthood, but unlike then there was a new musing playing in the background. She yearned for him with an agitated heart even when there was no obvious trigger, and the latch pulled rapidly as the playful talks twisted into whispers of seduction. The moments were simple and she enjoyed every colourful moment of it. But the beautiful vision she was painting slowly chipped away to reveal the canvas tainted with her own insecurity. Marianne just listened quietly, nodding along to prompt Hilda to continue spilling out her feelings, and it exposed a ring of fears that persuaded her to run away from Cyril’s embrace.

She already realized that she was weak to expectations set by others, especially of those she respected, so when their short time together was already at the ears of Byleth and Seteth and they sprung into hopes of marriage, it drove her further back into herself. What was she to do? She was justifiable at that time, of course- who’d expect such a thing after one day? But at the same time, why did she believe that wouldn’t be the case? Because it wasn’t _her_ ; she was not one who’d show commitment at all, and her past experience was evidence of that! When was the last time she endured a relationship that lasted longer than a year? She was the type who’d lose attention once the excitement fizzled out, and she didn’t want to destroy the bond between her and Cyril, especially because it took them years to form. But it wasn’t like she was talking to him for the last five years either, so she couldn’t defend herself in that regard. He simply receded in the back of her mind while she went on with her life – it was a pause per se, and when she saw him again, it was as if they picked up where they left off, but this time they had the beauty of maturity on their side.

Her rant continued in a revolving cyclone and tackled all kinds of conjectures on possible rifts that could blow into this relationship. At the end, though, she knew that being with him would work. It would last. He was loyal to a fault and would be there for her no matter what.

But what if she wasn’t enough for _him_? 

Marianne browsed Hilda’s feet and began healing the scorched markings that Lysithea couldn’t fully clear earlier in the day. “Hilda, did you tell Cyril about your worry?”

Hilda curled in her toes when she felt the tickling sensation run through her sole. “I told him he’d be annoyed by me, and he said that he always was anyway.”

“I see,” Marianne let go of her feet and got up. “He knows your way of life and accepts it.”

“Yeah, but he had been scolding me often.”

“Are you afraid he’d try to change you?”

Hilda shook her head. He never tried to control her or force her to do things she refused. He always picked up the weight when she let go, but he relented on his complaints when she compensated with her company. “That’s not what I’m worried about though. My fear is that he’d eventually expect something out of me and I’d fall short. Romantically I mean.”

“Would you?”

“I don’t know…,” Hilda had to think about how to word it. She walked over to the closet and picked up one of the guest night gowns. “It’s just, when you tell me how he reacted to my kidnapping I realize I wouldn’t do the same. I’d probably sit back and send a proper huntsman in my stead.”

“That’s a rational decision.”

Hilda raised a brow. “You don’t think it’s cold of me?”

Marianne held her hand. “I’m saying that it’s hard to see these things until they truly happen. It’s okay to feel unsure. You should take your time on this and see how it unfolds; I’ll be there either way.”

Hilda slipped on the gown and snuggled herself back into the sheets. “I suppose you’re right. So what about you? You came by to talk, right?”

Marianne covered her mouth. “Oh, I completely forgot! I only had a chance to tell you about the mirror earlier, so I wanted to explain to you what we found when we searched for Freikugel. Those Who Slither in The Dark had been hiding in Goneril’s Territory for a while from what we investigated, so it seems that your kidnap was something they had prepared and waited for in a while. I believe that there’s no concern anymore since we found no trace of them and removed the mirror, and your family is being informed, so at least they will be on guard.”

Hilda took a pillow and hugged it. “So you found Freikugel?”

Marianne nodded. “Your brother was actually searching for it too, so it’s being delivered to him.”

“That’s better. I don’t want to deal with that thing.” Marianne fell quiet and looked at her feet. “What’s wrong?” Hilda asked and held her hand. She squeezed back.

“I know you are exhausted and you want to remove yourself from the political affiliations, but… The Knights of Seiros are arriving at dawn and we’re marching out at noon. I…I don’t want to leave you here alone. I wish that you’d come with us, then at least I’d know you’re safe.”

Hilda smiled. “Of course. Anything for you.”

Marianne’s soft smile is brilliant even in the midnight shadows. “Thank you, Hilda.”

Hilda smiled back but broke into a yawn halfway in. Marianne used the cue to leave the room after promising her friend that she’d rest as well. She shut the door and the candle was extinguished, and the room was left with the whispering of the wind and trills. Hilda simmered in the dark and tossed herself into the pillows. She could still smell his metallic sweat and a hint of sweet cake. 

\+ + +

“This was not part of the plan.”

Hilda scoured through the racks for the lightest axe, ignoring Seteth’s frigid stare casting over the former students. It didn’t matter to her that tensions arose the very minute the knights arrived at the peak of the sun, let alone when Seteth approached the lords with orders instead of hellos; she was more concerned that Lorenz had so many weapons laid out in his household that were all crafted in sizes too large against her frame. There was no way she could wander with finesse when the enemy saw a woman wield an axe almost as tall as her!

“Listen, Seteth, Hilda saw first-hand from the kidnap that their lair is in House Ordelia. It’s best we head straight for it and eliminate them at their source,” Sylvain began.

“That is a presumptuous leap you’re making there. We do not know whether they are still residing there after she escaped from their grasp,” Seteth answered with crossed arms.

Hilda finally found an iron axe. The small size and light weight would not be difficult to deal with.

“Then what is your plan, Seteth?” Sylvain asked with a rigid smile. “Where is the professor anyway?”

“She warped to Fhirdiad and is defending the fort as we speak. However, she says that a small party of the Adrestrian rebellion branched off and is heading over to attack here in Gloucester, so we need to reinforce the castle. I also need to speak personably with a few of you, including you, Sir Gautier.”

One of Lorenz’s knights walked in with scrolls of paper and Marianne spread them over the table. “Before you do so, we should share our findings. During our recluse near Fodlan’s Throat two days ago we have come to suspect that House Ordelia is a possible meeting location of theirs.”

Seteth carefully studied them but rejected their proposal still with a shake of his head. Even if their logic aligned, a lot could happen in those two days that could outdate these parchments.

“I agree based on what we have found near the eastern border. We collected a mirror that we suspect was used to transport between there to House Ordelia. If the theory is correct, there may be more of them they used to travel across Fodlan.”

Seteth was curious of this artifact so he asked Lorenz to show it to him, but first, he had to speak with him, Sylvain, Felix and Mercedes. The air was tense even after they left, with the lords feeling spite for the lack of a decision. Outside, the sound of metal rattled with every soldier marching into the courtyard from the posterior of the castle, adding to the cluttering noise of the busy halls. This was a better time than ever for Hilda to squeeze herself out of the area. Her head was not in the same space as everyone else- why would she, when she finally had the chance to indulge her feelings with Cyril? She wanted an excuse to free herself of the busywork and find the Almyran man.

The typical man he was though, he was probably running errands all across the castle, so how would she find him? She wandered through the halls, percussing the smooth floor with her rapid steps when she dodged passersby and soldiers, her hair slinging from side to side while searching for the dark curls in every corner. When she reached the mural hall she sighed and sat on the upholstered bench facing the Gloucester statue. It wasn’t right that he was making it so difficult for her. She only wanted to hold him, maybe even steal a quick kiss. And if the mood led in that direction, they could find a broom closet…

Hilda sighed some more. The hour she had with him was haunting her. If she could, she’d rewind that time over and over again until the details of his body was permanently carved into her mind. She tried what she could with a lopsided grin over her face while she pretended to be admiring the craftsmanship of the Gloucester statue.

What she did see in that slivering moment in which she was aware of reality got her to pause her dreaming altogether. The stone hand next to the one holding the Axe of Ukonvasara was empty. She shot up from the bench and ran down to the underground chamber to chase after Lorenz.

The staff of Thyrsus was missing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did I end up making such a trashy situation? I really hope I didn't cause too much of a second hand embarrassment here, but I thought this would be the only good time for the two girls to chat before the plot picks up again. And I would assume that Hilda is very comfortable with sex and Marianne is not very judgmental so it works out?
> 
> But yea, things are happening!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril handles confrontations

Felix sighed and folded his arm when his sight did nothing to stop Cyril from hammering the planks together. The thudding against the nail was at a pace in match to an irrational heart, and Cyril’s lack of attention seemed to be in tune to that idea. It’s pleasing to have such work ethics, but there’s only so far the scaffold could be extended.

“Stop it, boy.”

Cyril picked up another piece when he noticed the foot on top of it. He looked up and saw Felix’s frown against the shivering mist that was waiting for dawn to bloom.

“You finished this area long ago. Go help with the palisade, they need more logs.”

Cyril nodded and immediately walked down over the bridge, where the mercenaries and soldiers set up spikes to encircle the castle. With his axe over the shoulder he walked to the outer part of the forest and felled the marked trees. Ten chops were enough and he stepped aside for the next. Chop, chop, kick, next. The move was automatic and efficient, and after he cut down a good dozen he broke them into good sizes and carried them in bulk to the wall, back and forth until a pile was set for them to work with. Without another word he turned to cut more logs when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Were you doing this by yourself, Cyril? I’ll give you a hand,” Leonie offered. Cyril was thrown off of his rhythm and watched her confused. “Hold up, I’ll just let the others know and then I’ll come with. Two axes are better than one.”

Cyril didn’t want to wait. He couldn’t stop. If he did, he’d… he’d…

_I want you to touch me._

His throat tightened at the surreal night. It flew by so fast, and he would have tossed it off as a very persuasive dream if Lysithea hadn’t asked him next morning how his talk with Hilda went. He was amazed at the speed at which he fled from her.

Leonie finally got back with an axe. “Let’s go.”

Cyril liked Leonie. She was efficient, productive, and true to her words, and he always finished well ahead of schedule with her by his side. After some cutting they adjusted to each other’s speed and quickly moved out more logs than a woodcutter would have prided on. The work was fast enough that he couldn’t focus on anything else, which was a gratifying need. He could not get distracted right now.

“Hellooo?” Cyril stopped and noticed her hand waving in front of his face. “I was going to ask about your posting, but forget about that: You seem awfully distracted. Did you get to sleep?”

_So much for that._

“I’m fine,” Cyril lied. How could he have slept?

Leonie grimaced and leaned against the tree. “You know with the knights in, we’ll probably march soon. Take a break. We need you in your best condition.”

“But sun’s rising,” Cyril pointed out when the orange and pink began to wash the sky.

“…Fine. Hey, I heard there are some tools in the underground chambers that we can use to fix the hinges on the ballistas. Could you go grab them? Heard they only stock up old goods there now, so it should be quiet. Quiet enough to get a good nap. You can take your time and no one would bat an eye.”

“But don’t ya need more wood?”

Leonie snorted when she looked at the pyramid they built. “I’ll get this hauled over. Should be enough to build the palisade before noon. Now go, Cyril.”

Cyril eventually nodded and winded back to the castle. He tried to strut as fast as he could, but the silence exposed how fresh the images still were. _No, don’t think about it; there’s a war incoming._ He tried to remember Ignatz’s artistic words and tried to appraise his surrounding instead. He looked at the golden morning light brightening the lilies that were still muddled by the night, casting over the esteemed longwinded path that branched out into a complex maze if one sought to wander off track, but there was a clear line where it couldn’t reach, cut off by the teeming shadow that was bred by the outer walls.

The green-flecked doors were jarred open to let the workers pour through. The underground chambers must be by the back from what he remembered, an arduous stretch to walk while having these thoughts, and the walls decorated with pasty heirs were not distracting either.

He kept replaying the vision of Hilda in his arms as they sank into the soft sheets. She was foreign from touch to sound, and exploring her every way was a discovery of the exotic womanhood he never realized he’d be so curious about. Hilda was gentle and patient in her ways but the hunger behind her fingers were clear, and he wished to see more behind the barricade that his inexperience held off. If he took a discourse he could walk by Hilda’s room, and the sleepyhead that she was, he could go in and wake her up…

Damn, what was he doing? Cyril blinked several times until he made eye contact with the portrait of the senior Gloucester member who boasted a perfectly trimmed moustache. Cyril actually considered seeing her in the morning instead of worrying about the crisis that was looming in. To think he could become so mussed was an understatement – at this point he was afraid at how easily he lost focus.

He eventually found the stairs winding him into the bellows of the lower level. The crisp halos flickered from the torches and shyly illuminated the stones that webbed arches between each bracket, hiding plentiful shapes of jars, vases, boxes and trunks in the dark. Cyril sifted through the ones closest to the stairs but could tell they were only trinkets and forgotten valuables. He picked the closest torch and wandered further in, glancing over the sections until he found a corner where larger tools were placed. With a yawn he looked for the ones that could come in useful, the used Brave weapons clanking about as he pushed through the cascading pile of metal, but even with that noise he could hear steps behind him.

Cyril turned and raised a brow when he saw a man’s silhouette drifting towards him. He mustn’t have noticed Cyril with the pile surrounding him, but the clatter of pieces falling aside pulled the man’s glance toward him.

The well-dressed man stiffened and held onto his staff with both hands. “What, pray tell, are you doing here in these chambers?”

“I was sent to get tools. That a problem?”

The elderly man resembled Lorenz with his scoff and tapped the staff he was holding onto the ground. The lighting detailed the straight cut of his hairline and a prim moustache over his lip. “This is a restricted area for people outside of my family. Be at speed and make sure to remind the mercenaries that they cannot behave in such uncouth manner.”

Cyril stared at him annoyed and turned back to search for the tools. He could sense him linger and he sighed. “Anything else?”

The lavender haired man shrugged. “It is a curiosity you were sent unaccompanied.”

“I’m doing fine. I won’t take a nap. I’ll be back out soon.”

“Of course,” the man continued staring. “Just find what you need.”

Cyril tried not to let the irritation show and focused on the toolbox he pulled aside. He opened the latch and figured that he might need strings and bolts too, so he dove back in.

“What more do you need?” The man sighed.

“Just checkin’ if there’s anything else useful.”

“If there was anything of use, it would be in the barracks with all the other tools. Off you go before I have reason for suspicion.”

Cyril froze and glared at him. At this point he recognized him from the paintings he passed by earlier. _A Gloucester._ The man sneered. “What is with that look? Did I not speak the truth?”

 _Are you accusing me of robbery?_ Cyril wanted to ask, but he quickly quelled his anger. He knew there was no power in arguing back.

The Gloucester member paused for a moment, then released a chuckle. It sounded nowhere near amusing- it sounded ugly, condescending, a dredge of hatred that filled the stillness between them. “Look at yourself. You act like you are a victim with an arduous past and use a tragic story to prey on the goodness of a noble, all so that you can scour through the households for riches like a rat fattening its burrow with shiny trinkets. I know what you are, and I know your kind too well: You are nothing but a parasite. But know this, your time is short and will be rewarded with a punishment well deserved. I will not mud my noble hands myself, but I can promise you it will happen soon.”

Cyril straightened up and faced him, but he did not seem fazed.

“Scurry back now and grovel to your master.”

Cyril came closer with a stronger glare, but the man stared back coolly, the staff holding a solid stance between them. There was much he could spew at him with both words and fists, but he reined them in and redirected it all into his stare. He could foresee the consequence of his temper, and he’d rather show that he would not stoop to this noble’s level.

Cyril tightened his fist and picked up the toolbox instead. He didn’t muster a word as he passed him. The lordly man turned away with a smug grin and continued off in the opposite direction as Cyril headed for the stairs.

The fury was riling him up the longer Cyril thought of the words. He wasn’t very interested by Lorenz, but he had grown a distant respect because of Lysithea’s devotion to him. But to think that this ugliness entrenched in his family could fester around Lysithea upset him. Cyril ground his teeth. He thought Lorenz was trustworthy, but at the end, he did not represent all of his kind.

“Cyril, is that you?”

Cyril was at the base of the steps when he saw Seteth, Marianne and Lorenz walking down. He set his eyes on Lysithea’s husband with contempt.

The man of lavender hair frowned. “Do you not know it is rude to stare at one, especially with such glare?”

“So what?” Cyril asked, all the pent up fury beginning to spill out.

“I thought we made it clear that you need to act with less trite if you’re to be associated as a close member to my family.”

Cyril’s frown burrowed until deep lines etched between his brows. “What’s that matter if your own family think of me as parasitic?”

Lorenz blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Nuthin.” Cyril snapped and walked up the stairs. Lorenz caught him by the arm though.

“You cannot make such accusation and speak as if there is nothing. Now speak, what made you state that?”

Cyril glanced at him and flared his nostril. “Iunno, why don’t you ask your relative? He’s down there laughing with more pride on his purple moustache than his humility.”

Lorenz pulled his arm away from him in disgust. “How dare you insult my father. You have some nerve talking ill of a man who’s steadfast in place of Von Riegan. While the supposed leader displaced the responsibilities on us, my father’s been tending to the fragility of Deirdru with no hesitance.”

“Oh, he’s definitely tending to some fragility, but it ain’t a political one if he acts that way with strangers.”

“What are you talking about? You don’t make sense.”

Cyril swept an exhausted arm to point at the chambers. He hated talking about others, but the annoyance overcame him. “I was minding my business when he shows up and accuses me of leeching off of the nobles.”

Lorenz forehead wrinkled. “My father isn’t home.”

Seteth had been watching closely the entire time, but at last he stepped in. “Lorenz, you have no relatives with you at the moment?”

“Well, of course I do, but there is only one who wears such facial hair with finesse.”

Seteth paled and whipped down the stairs. “We must find him at once!”

Cyril did not know what was so urgent, but the tone was enough for him to instinctively respond as a soldier, tossing the box aside and speeding forward past Seteth. The stretch of cold stones slathered bright by the torchlight showed nothing of the person who just insulted him, and as the two ran further in they stopped at the halls of multiple doors.

“Where do these doors lead to?!” Seteth shouted at Lorenz as he caught up.

“They do not lead to any passage. They are for storage and treasures, and the main is for the tombs of my forefathers-” Lorenz quickly realized Seteth’s implication and broke into a sprint halfway toward the central door. It was slightly ajar, but the gap was only narrow enough to squeeze through. Cyril and Lorenz pulled from each side when they felt the stone slabs vibrate against their skin to the beat of a heart.

“Mother…” Seteth muttered, staring straight at the lazy smokes slithering out of the opening.

“What in the goddess’s name are you doing?!” Marianne shouted past them.

Inside was a mask of smoke that enveloped lined stone tombs. It slithered and wavered, breathing as if conscious, and began to collect around the Gloucester man in the center who was holding the staff like a treasure offered to a child. His laughter felt like claws running into Cyril’s skull.

Lorenz was shocked. “Father, why do you have the staff of Thyrsus?!”

The manic laughter stripped the clarity from his throat and air scraped out haughtily. “Ah, I forgot that this member had sired a son. It does not matter either way; I have all that I need, and you are too late.”

“What? You…you are not him! What have you done to my father?!”

The estranged man ignored Lorenz and lurched to the ground, still attached to the staff, and plastered his forehead against the ground. The staff of Thyrsus convulsed, the tendons of flesh ebbing against the stranger’s hold, and dark shadows began to pool beneath it – no, those were not mere shadows, Cyril realized, but a substance of thick, black liquid. He followed the trail with his eyes all the way to the tombs, where he saw it leach out of the cracks as if they were bleeding tar.

The length of the relic began to grow, the girth building en mass by absorbing the dark liquid like a sponge.

“Lorenz! The tombs!”

Lorenz snapped out of his shock and immediately shot a Sagittae spell at the man impersonating his father. The flashes of arrows spliced the clouds and knocked the man upward, but he stubbornly latched onto the growing relic that deformed into a larger shape of dry flesh. 

“It is too late, vermin! You shall all die in these tombs!”

The man bellowed in laughter and the skin melted to reveal grey skin and wild eyes. His own transformation was undermined by the tremors beating out of the former staff, which had turned into a snake-like creature molding scales out of the tar. Frail frames of wings jutted out of its back. The webs at the front tore apart, black fangs spearing out in rows. Droplets of rubies slit out of the skin from the fronts, the sides, the wings, and the sickle shaped pupils settled on Lorenz, Cyril, Seteth and Marianne.

Seteth paled. Even though the Creature screamed into their ears, Cyril could hear him whisper “Thyrsus…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to draw out the Creature but I didn't get a chance to do so. Well, we get a two-bar beast battle!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a battle against a monster ensues

There was an explosive rumble coming from the chambers. Hilda’s lungs were bursting by the time she reached the source of the sound, and she reached for the first wrist in the cloud of dust- Marianne’s. The smoke settled to the ground and there stood Seteth and Cyril, unharmed, focused on the black shape floating between the tombs to notice Hilda.

“Get out of there! NOW!” Hilda shouted and pulled Marianne by the arm. She could hear the other two behind her.

The serpent beast roared and built to the tremors as it widened its wings. Cracks were forming from the gaps between the stones above and bits began to fall. The hairs at the back of Hilda’s neck rose when she saw the similarities to the Creature she encountered in the forest. The vile skin, the thundering roar, the eyes that pressed for anyone it targets to succumb to their death…

“Hurry!” she screamed.

The red eyes immediately fell on her. The Serpent ruptured the walls on each side to pass through the tomb doors. Marianne screamed when it shot forward, Hilda pulled her into her arms, and Seteth and Cyril threw themselves in front of them with wide stance. It revealed black fangs as it headed straight for them when a bright light shot from the ground straight up against its jaw. 

The Serpent screeched as it hit the ceiling and Lorenz waved at them from the corner opposite the exit. Cyril ran out to the hall and the two women and Seteth trailed behind.

“What about you, Lorenz?!” Hilda shouted over her shoulder.

“Do not worry! I will halt this creature and capture the man who impersonated my father!”

Hilda wanted to argue back, but the Serpent whipped its tail back, flinging Lorenz into the walls. Marianne screamed, broke out of Hilda’s hold and ran over to him, and Hilda immediately sped after when she saw the Serpent winding up another attack. She used her iron axe to block the tail that aimed for Marianne, but it broke instantly and she flew back from the impact.

Her skull hit the stone and her vision blurred, and all she was aware of was a distant soothing sound of a heal spell while the Serpent wings beat against the air. The outlines of the slithering creature slowly sharpened into focus just when it charged at her, but in her dulled reaction she couldn’t do much except watch in horror when Seteth threw himself in front of her. Seteth screamed as the black fangs dug into his torso, and he was thrown aside like a ragdoll. 

“SETETH!”

The Serpent paused. It stared at Seteth while blood dripped from its jawline. Hilda used the chance to pull herself up and she spotted a disfigured man cackling in the crypts.

“Why are you stopping?! Kill them all!” The man shouted with a strained voice.

The Serpent picked up on the order and swung back toward Hilda. The red eyes flashed with volatility, and it purchased more height before it dropped straight at her. Hilda gritted her teeth, pulled out the broken axe and readied for a counterattack. Cyril suddenly ran in from underneath and pierced into its wounded jaw with a Brave lance. The Serpent screeched and hit the walls, and Cyril shouted at Hilda before tossing a Brave Axe to her. In one motion she caught the weapon by the handle, swung it around and used the momentum to strike at its neck. Black blood sprayed out of the wound and the Serpent gurgled, thrashing around in pain.

“NOOOOO!” The man screamed.

Cyril pulled the lance out and rushed to Hilda’s side. The Serpent rammed its head against the ceiling and roared. Instead of weakening, the pain seemed to anger it more, and it wildly whipped its tail around, bruising more stonewalls. Marianne ran across the flailing to get to Hilda and barely avoided a deadly swing, but it was enough for the Serpent to spot her. It threw its bleeding jaws at her, and just as it shot to the ground, Hilda lunged forward and pulled Marianne aside, and Cyril took that opening to spring in and swing his lance straight into its eye. 

The roar reached a pitch so metallic that it vibrated in her head.

“WATCH OUT!”

A strike. A snap. A wet, soft body crashed into the stones.

“CYRIL!”

There was so much red. Cyril laid limply amidst the cloud of dust and a web of cracks in the stones, a lance in two scattered in the rubble. Hilda’s ears rang. She shouted Marianne’s name in a tone where the orator knew to pull back, and Hilda gripped her axe, nose scrunched and eyes wild with fury, and leapt at the roaring Serpent and cleaved its wing off. Black sprayed all over.

The creature’s blood soaked her clothes and she felt the wind shift behind her. She turned and saw a blurring knife striking for her. An assassin!?

There was the manic cackle again from the tombs. “You think you’ve won?! You’re just a cockroach that needs some stomping before it dies! AMBUSH THEM!”

But Lorenz’s Sagittae barraged the assassin aside with light arrows before he could complete his attack. “My apologies, Lady Goneril, I was trying to stabilize Seteth.”

Seteth stumbled behind but collapsed before he could mutter a word. It was clear that the punctures were only temporarily healed. Hilda whipped her head around and found more warriors appearing before them with a two-headed golden eagle patched over their chests. She didn’t know where they were coming from, but she counted a good eight of them. The Serpent stirred and slowly rose up and eyed them.

Hilda, Marianne and Lorenz stood en garde circling around Cyril and Seteth.

“I believe your axe has about one more swing left,” Lorenz commented.

Hilda hefted the axe over her shoulder. “And you two?”

“I’ll make sure my Ragnarok will be worthwhile,” Lorenz grinned nervously. Marianne smiled too, but the fainting light from her hands wasn’t as reassuring.

Hilda smiled flatly. She carefully watched the enemies trudge around the Serpent and shift forward. One of them would slip, and that would be her only shot…

“ATTACK!”

Everyone turned to the entrance and watched lightning flush up into the room and blast the enemies, cremating the human ones within seconds. In the midst of the screams, Lysithea stepped out of the mage circle and lit the Serpent with Dark Spikes. The darkness hurtled out of the ground and pierced into its torso in a spiral of thorns, impaling the Serpent through each of its eye until the largest spike shot through the final one on its head. The dust settled and the enemies laid limp. The magic dissipated and the creature collapsed in its pool of blood.

Gravel trickled from the cracks above. The injured five smiled in relief when Lysithea and her mages rushed for them. The mages readied their healing spells and concoctions as they saw the heavily injured men, but Hilda accepted a simple vulnerary and turned them away to assist the others. The warlock embraced her husband and checked his injuries, but he held her at bay and told her that it wasn’t over. There was one more left.

“Your assassination attempt has failed. If you understand your situation you should give yourself up right now,” Lorenz demanded. 

The grey man was seething inside the tombs and clinging to the ground. “Not enough…Those bodies were too worn down. Useless. Maybe a fresh one…”

“What is he talking about?” Lysithea asked. Nobody knew, but Lorenz told her to move to the other side of the hall as a flank while he used the moment of his erratic mumbling to shuffle forward with a spell ready. Cyril groaned in the back and regained consciousness. Hilda stood back with axe in hand when she noticed someone else slipping through one of the other doors, slouching forward and nimbly tip-toeing over the rubble with a scimitar toward Lorenz.

“Lorenz! Behind you!” Hilda shouted. The battle of speed blurred together at an instant- the assassin sprang with his blade out, Hilda shot in, and Lorenz turned around with flames brewing from his palms- but the assassin knocked Lorenz’s wrist aside so that the Ragnarok bombarded in Hilda’s direction instead. Hilda saw fire, then felt herself get rammed to the ground.

“LORENZ!” Lysithea screeched, but it was deafened by the Ragnarok. Parts of Hilda’s skin were scorched, the smoke filled her vision, and her ears were ringing.

The body on top of her became limp. She gritted her teeth, shuffled out and used her axe to pull herself up. 

“Cyril?” Cyril’s back was crisp and charred. Hilda lost all strength in her knees and dropped down. “Cyril.” She shakily tugged his hair out of his face. He was breathing. Her lips trembled. “Cyril, you idiot.”

She had to get him to safety. She got up and turned to obliterate the assassin when she saw Lorenz standing with a blade through his chest.

The adrenaline spike propelled Hilda forward and she struck the attacker with the Brave axe. The assassin let go of the hilt and dodged backward, but he wasn’t able to avoid her consecutive attack. The axe cleanly cut through his throat and his head flew off, blood spraying in a fountain of red.

“LORENZ!” Hilda turned and caught Lorenz before he fell back. He watched her in shock and then slowly stared down at what cut through him. “MARIANNE!” Lysithea rushed in first and immediately shifted her spells over him, Marianne closely behind. Hilda was shaken while holding on to Lorenz, terrified at how deep the wound was.

This couldn’t be happening…It couldn’t…

To her horror she saw smoke drift from the tombs towards them as if directed by a conscience, slowly swirling around Lorenz, aridly consuming the blood that was dripping from his body and turning darker and darker.

“Yesss, fresh blood from the dragons…” the man hissed.

“Hilda. You have to stop that man.” Marianne stared at Hilda calm and bold. Hilda gingerly passed him over to Lysithea’s lap. She didn’t understand what was going on, but the cackling man was clearly the instigator, so she sprinted forward with her now broken axe. He screamed helplessly, but she didn’t care and silenced him with a quick strike.

The man flopped to the ground. The smoke slowed in its dance and eventually dissipated into nothing. Hilda stood there in the midst of the tainted tombstones, blood dripping from the splintered heel of her weapon, her mind blank, but her body still tight with anxiety.

“LORENZ!”

Hilda flitted back to Marianne, whose hands quivered over Lorenz’s bloodstained coat, with only the scimitar that was deep in his body keeping the blood from spurting through. Marianne was holding back tears when no magic formed. “Hilda…I have no energy left…,” Marianne said shakily. “I’ll try to keep him stable…”

The group of magicians and priests closed in around them and immediately set up an emergency station with medical supplies and spells. They began to surgically remove the sword while healing Lorenz. Hilda wanted none of that and walked away to drop next to Cyril, who was left by himself with his back out when the healer turned to aid Lorenz instead. He had been stabilized, but he’d need ointments to make sure the remaining wounds wouldn’t scar. First she had to do something to lift the pain that was etched into his expression. Hilda produced the vulnerary she received and tipped it against Cyril’s mouth. The liquid simply dribbled out.

“Cyril, please, I know it tastes awful but you have to try and drink some to ease the pain,” Hilda pleaded while wiping his chin with her blood-crusted thumb. He shouldn’t have hurt himself for her. 

Seteth screamed in turmoil behind her when his punctured sides were treated. Lorenz’s pained voice was terrifyingly inhuman. Priests were shouting instructions with an edge of panic. And in all that noise there was Marianne calm words of assurance to the wailing Lysithea.

Hilda carefully turned Cyril over to adjust him onto her lap, but no sensible touch could be painless, and every wince from him ached her heart. 

She took a long swig from the bottle, lifted Cyril’s chin and placed her mouth over his. He took it in easily enough, but when he tried to gulp he ended up coughing. Her eyes welled up. She couldn’t even help him this way.

Cyril slowly opened his eyes. “Hil…da?”

Hilda batted the tears away and smiled reassuringly. No, she would make sure that he was okay no matter what, and she would give her damn best where she would have given up otherwise. She tried again, carefully pressing her lips around his so that nothing could spill, and this time he was able to swallow properly. She rested her palm on his cheek when he groaned. “Cyril, you shouldn’t have protected me…”

His eyelids fluttered shut. “You’re safe…”

He was fast asleep. Hilda pulled him over her back and carried him over to the nursing room. Another mage was closely behind with Seteth on his back, and the two injured were placed on the beds. The mage raided the medical chests and dashed back out to the basement, so Hilda was left alone to watch the two. She nestled on the bedside next to Cyril, preening his hair, tracing his face, and gently caressing his shoulders. There were burnt marks everywhere. He needed cold water. 

Cyril shifted his head over to her and murmured her name in his sleep. She smiled and patted his cheek. “Honestly, Cyril. We should get you treated. Wake up.”

He slowly opened his eyes but she was already up and running over to the washbasin, filling a bowl with water. She returned next to him, soaked a clean towel and began dabbing him. Cyril winced. “Stay still,” Hilda instructed, but tried to go lighter on her touch.

“Ya need to rest,” Cyril muttered weakly. The water trickled down his face and soaked the mattress.

Hilda drenched the towel once more and asked him to shift around. “It’s alright, Cyril, I just got bruises that can be healed. The burns are more important to deal with before they get permanent.”

He closed his eyes again, soothed by the cooling taking effect. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Hilda wanted to scold him, but seeing his peaceful face made her tug the words aside for a later time. If only Marianne was around, she could make sure he was properly recovered.

“Hilda?”

Saint Cethleann, bless her heart. Marianne glided into the room and immediately began nursing Cyril. She had taken an elixir earlier, and could cast the highest faith spells again. The bright light swam over Cyril’s body and immediately began repairs on his skin. Hilda lost all tension in her shoulders and sat back against the chair.

“I love you, Marianne,” Hilda sighed. “What would I do without you?”

Marianne smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty awful.” Hilda groaned as she sat up to give Marianne space. “This was supposed to be a nice feast before we set off. Is Lorenz going to make it?”

Marianne paused. “The sword hit his vitals. We have to continuously heal him to keep him alive, which is only possible because we have the dozen healers on hand. He should eventually stabilize. It will take all day though, maybe more.”

Hilda stared at the bed sheet. Pure as white and sterile, it was the opposite of the Serpent and its rancid smell of death. “Where did those guys come from?”

Marianne sighed. “We brought them in,” she said bitterly.

Hilda folded her arms. “How?”

“The mirror,” Cyril muttered. Apparently he was awake the entire time. “Shouldn’t have paid attention to it, but thanks to me we dragged it with us.”

“Cyril, what are you saying? I was the one who ordered to bring it in,” Marianne countered and began finishing her spell. “It was my responsibility to lead the mission with caution, but I was careless instead and didn’t question the risk of bringing a teleportation device with us.”

“We need to destroy it,” Cyril simply said and sat up. He thanked Marianne when she worked on his back.

“They’re on it. Felix and Leonie arrived and are trying to find ways to completely destroy it with Lysithea’s help.”

“Why not just shatter it?”

Marianne shook her head. “We don’t know anything about their technology. It’s best we don’t repeat the same mistake twice and consider all angles.”

Hilda watched them carefully. Great, she had to give them more bad news. “Thyrsus is missing.”

Neither reacted with shock. “Yes. That man in the crypts used it to create that serpent-like monster,” Marianne explained.

Hilda watched her carefully. “It’s just like that Creature I met in the forest. Do you think-“

“-Hilda,” Marianne interrupted and turned to her. “Did Those Who Slither in The Dark have Blutgang?”

Hilda thought back on it and nodded. Shit. She had dropped it in the forest amidst the chaos when she ran away from them. “That was my fault. So they used Blutgang to create it, just like Thyrsus here.”

“I see,” Marianne became quiet. The silence in this long, clean space emphasized the faint smell of iron and woody-sweet herbs - a small introduction of what would overwhelm this room in a few days. Seteth began to groan and Marianne rushed over.

“Lady Edmund, I need to speak with you,” Seteth rasped. He tried to sit upright but winced as he leaned against the headboard. Marianne eased him into a comfortable position before he continued. “It is in regards to the… creature we encountered in the chambers. You have noted that it took an unusual shape from the staff of Thyrsus, and I’ve realized there is a reason for it.”

Hilda heard Cyril mumble the staff’s name. Seteth continued, “The creature was Thyrsus herself, one of the children of the Goddess, but brought back in parts of what was left of her. Defiled.”

And it was from Marianne’s and Seteth’s discussion that they finally understood what Those Who Slither in The Dark were trying to attain: the Heroes Relics were the remnants of the Goddess’s children, and they tried to bring them back to life as their tool of destruction. However, the bare bones were not enough to revive them in their full might, so the necromancers used the bodies of Crest-bearing nobles as their supplemental flesh, which was why tombs were being raided in addition to the Relics. That explained why the Creature rose in the forest, because both Blutgang and the live beasts that carried Maurice’s bloodline were there during the fight. It must also be what caused the destruction of House Dominic a while back, as it was revealed that a beast razed the town and allowed for the rebels to break in, and since Dominic’s relic was housed there _and_ Annette was stranded there…it meant that the beast that Catherine fell was the result of a successful ritual.

It gave a clearer understanding as to why they desperately wanted Freikugel. The fact that they were forced to kidnap Hilda meant they couldn’t find it themselves, so even if they infiltrated her home, her family was useless to them until they had it. But then she was told that her brother requested for the axe to be returned to him, so if Caspar was on his way with it, would it expose them to an ambush such as the one here? And if they did steal the weapon, her family would become a target for the defiling magic because of the blood they carried. 

Hilda stared at them numbly. “I have to warn my brother.”

Marianne paled in understanding. “We have to think of a way to stop them from reviving any other creatures. Cut them off at the source. It’s not just the Heroes Relics; they cannot be allowed to go near the tombs or your family.”

“The tombs are under Fodlan’s Locket, but only selected members are allowed to enter the passage.”

“Okay. So tell him to ban any entry and to tighten security. We cannot let Those Who Slither in The Dark obtain more power until we attack their base.”

Hilda nodded. “Sorry Marianne, but I’ll have to depart as soon as possible. If only we had created a path of teleportation so that Lysithea could warp us over…”

“How are you planning to go?” Seteth asked.

Hilda realized she didn’t have Catria with her. She was one of the fastest fliers even back in the academy, but without a trained wyvern it wouldn’t mean much.

“I’ll do it,” Cyril said. They all turned to him, who sat upright with steadfast eyes. “Y’know I’m one of the fastest fliers, and everyone else is too busy. I’ll take ya to House Goneril.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long one that has its ups and downs. Did it make sense what they learned? I do hope I can clear things up if it doesn't, because next up is Cyril visiting Goneril!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Cyril Takes Hilda to Fodlan's Throat

Cyril had a simple routine when preparing Myrtle for flights. It hadn’t changed over the years since she first passed the weight to carry him, and whenever he approached her with a saddle she’d sit still to allow him to pull the girdle under her belly. This time though he seemed to cinch the saddle with a strap that never seemed to end even after the umpteenth loop through the belt and Myrtle grumbled with impatience.

Ashe seemed sad when Cyril informed him that he’d fly Hilda. He acted as if it was a farewell, as if someone had taken away his brother. But to his annoyance Ashe denied feeling anything of that sort when asked, and when Cyril asked if he wanted him to stay he was chased off his post instead. Ashe was odd sometimes, but there was always an intention behind his actions. Did Cyril do something wrong? It seemed he wouldn’t know until he returned from this mission. 

Cyril eventually lost patience with the belt strap and snapped it into a tie and patted Myrtle to rise.

Hilda walked into the stall dressed in belts that held two axes and a bow over her back. She groaned with relief when she finally arrived and let go of the quiver she had been lugging under her arm, but it dropped facedown and the silver arrows spilled all over the dirt. “Oops. Sorry, I’ll pick that up.”

Cyril saw an arrow roll behind Myrtle’s foot as he made his final tug and reached for it. The morning light played against the silver surface and with an awful trickery decided to bounce the reflections right on Hilda, who was leaning down and revealing her low cut shirt. Cyril felt the warmth rising. It made sense to be dressed lightly for this flight to compensate for the weight added with all the equipment, but he forgot the part that she’d be holding firmly onto him with that apparel. Hilda reached for the last one that he was holding and met his eyes. Seeing what her position was doing to him and brought a devilish smile out of her.

“Cyril,” she said huskily. “Give it to me.”

“Ah y-y-yeah,” Cyril stammered red-faced. Hilda stretched forward to him but did so with very intentional movement; she made sure her cleavage was in his view, her mouth parted and eyes marked on him. She placed a hand on his thigh and accepted the arrow with her other hand, holding onto his fingers for a few seconds. She then studied the arrow while massaging his leg.

“I picked silver arrows since I figured you’d deserve the best. Did I do good?”

He held his breath. He reminded himself that they had to leave for their flight. “Y-yeah…thanks, Hilda.”

She set the arrow against his lips. “Anything for you, handsome.”

His tongue brushed instinctively over the tip. No, he had to focus. “Hilda…Can ya promise me to keep it together for this mission?”

It was an awful question to ask. Hilda was now against him, wedged between his legs.

“So you don’t want any of this?” She whispered and licked the arrow tip.

“Hilda-“

“Or this?” She glided the arrow down the center of her chest and then angled it downward. “And not even this?”

“Come on, ya know I do,” Cyril’s voice was weak unlike his hold onto her arms. He wrestled with the side that wanted her right then and there, and with heaving breath he rested his forehead on hers. “I’m going crazy here, but we have to get ya home fast. We can’t waste time.”

He squeezed at the sight of her pleading eyes. “Okay,” she said before she gave him a lingering kiss as if trying to hold on to the moment. “But I won’t promise you that when just having you near me is tempting me. And looking at it, you are on the same boat as me.”

Cyril nodded in defeat and let go. They finished their set up and got on the wyvern without another word.

Myrtle took off with them on her back tightly holding onto one another, and they merged with the thick clouds that shrouded over the castle. The air felt dense, the thickening dew seeping into his skin and gumming with the heat. Cyril clenched onto the scales to absorb some of its coolness, but it wasn’t enough for what actually made him feel claustric.

He was going back to House Goneril.

Hilda’s arms were tight around his waist. This was not the time to drawl about his past; they had to go faster. He pressed his thighs against Myrtle and leaned forward, and Myrtle broke through the clouds with a furling whirl. He stayed close to her neck to keep his eyes from tearing up, but it didn’t stop the wind from whistling his ears off. He felt the softness press against his back and wondered if Hilda was alright, but with the velocity they flew he could hardly speak, let alone turn around. He squeezed her hand instead for assurance.

He recognized some landmarks they overshot and knew they were already halfway there. It was impressive, considering his previous run with Marianne took them twice as long. Myrtle was retching for air and her wings beat more furiously to maintain speed. He tugged at the rein for her to slow and let the wind carry her for a bit.

“Bloody heavens, what was that?!” Hilda screeched after she sucked in air. “You’re going to drive the poor thing down to morsels if you push her like that!”

“Sorry,” Cyril said. “We can’t afford to waste time. I’ll let her rest when we get there.”

“No. I don’t want to cut time if it means it’d put Myrtle’s health at risk. I’d not bear the conscience.”

“Ya sure?” Cyril turned to see her pink head nod over his shoulder. “Okay. But we’ll still try to fly fast after she catches her breath.”

“Sounds good.”

A strong gust lifted them by the widespread wings. Myrtle glided over a valley where the intricate river branches began to thin until they were buried by the thick forest. It was a soothing reminder that the gods continued to sing to the earth and sky even when humans drowned in their own shrills. To imagine how his life would be if he never got involved in any of this; the lullaby of peace would gently caress him through the years with metals ringing in beautiful melodies instead of revolting clashes. If only he could return to the days where a song praising nature’s provisions was not scoffed at but cherished. If only he could remember the scripts that his father reiterated every sunrise as his mother pulled the flatbreads out of the ovens. If only…

“Cyril, how is your back?” Hilda asked concerned.

Most of the pain was gone thanks to the healing, and the sleep removed the rest. “It’s all good.”

“Okay.”

“…”

“Cyril, you’ve been very quiet.”

Cyril kept staring below.

“You don’t want to go there, do you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Would you feel better if you dropped me nearby? I can get by from there.”

“Ya know I won’t do that.”

“Why, Cyril? Why would you go so far?”

He finally turned to her, his curls whipping over his eyes as they assessed each other. Why indeed? It was ironic, really, that the man who was hurt and dehumanized by the Gonerils ended up falling for one. “I dunno. All I know is that you wanna save them, so I will help ya.”

“You’ll be alright being there?” Hilda pulled his strand aside. It felt odd how she worried about him, maybe even more than he did. He didn’t feel anything. Just numb. He wasn’t sure if the weight of returning had sunk in yet, but it didn’t matter to him as long as Hilda was okay. He gave her a peck on her head and ordered Myrtle to tear the clouds once more.

The mountain range was growing out of the horizons and déjà vu hit him immediately. The pattern of the peaks was familiar to a child living on the other side of the border, but only twice had he seen Fodlan’s side. The bridges crossed over the drops and the fortresses butted out with superimposing strength. He returned to the mind of a boy who was ripped away from his home and was kept between walls made of granite that seeped coldness into his bare feet. Here he was, back to a time where isolation kept his days barren and loneliness sickened his nights. It wasn’t as if Almyra was any more peaceful than this place, but it was different when every pair of eyes merely saw him as a working animal.

Hilda squeezed him tighter and he slowed. “My brother should be at the central gate over there.”

He directed Myrtle over to the white structure where the center of Fodlan’s Locket was. The guards straightened at Cyril’s sight and already bombarded him with shouts and orders before Hilda had a chance to reveal herself.

“Don’t worry, he’s with me,” Hilda waved over his shoulder. “This is Cyril, Knight of Seiros.”

Cyril was surprised at how nonchalant he felt. If he was a few years younger he might have defiantly retorted to the off-putting welcome, but the guards’ eyes that drilled into him did nothing. He casually dropped off of the wyvern and pulled Hilda down by the waist.

“Lady Goneril, are you alright? We heard that you were safe after the abduction, but we couldn’t locate you.”

She waved off the issue and asked the guard for her brother. He said that Holst was in the middle of a meeting, but Hilda insisted that if they notified him he’d cut it short for her, and so the second guard dashed off.

“Alright, could you be a dear and arrange a cozy place for us? We had been on a _looong_ flight, and we’re exhausted.” 

The guard who was fixed on Cyril shifted. “I can’t leave my post. You’ll need to wait until my partner returns.”

“Fine, I’ll head over to the pantry then. Make sure you treat the wyvern well, she flew several knots to get me here.” Hilda nodded at Cyril to follow. There was a tinge of satisfaction when the guard squirmed at the sight of the dark-skinned man following his lord’s sister. 

The stones were mangled and mismatched in the path linking the watchtowers, and the discoloured pattern showed where attacks ripped into the structure before it was hastily put back together. The roads seemed somewhat shorter than what Cyril remembered, and the towers that overwhelmed him as a child now seemed mundane in comparison to the grand monastery. Hilda’s presence garnered the attention of the soldiers lingering about, who in turn shifted their glances over to him. Hilda took a hasty look over her shoulder then slowed her pace so she was beside him. It was sweet that she was concerned for him, but he didn’t want her to think that it was her fault he was in this uncomfortable spotlight.

“Looks like no one’s attacked yet,” Cyril muttered as a reminder why they were here.

Hilda nodded. “I do wonder what Holst is doing with Freikugel.”

“Won’t know til ya see him.”

“Oh! This would be your first time meeting my brother!” Hilda exclaimed. “You excited?”

Cyril raised a brow. “Why?”

“Well, because he’s my brother? Remember the letter he wrote about you?”

“Oh,” he mouthed as he thought back five years ago when Holst praised his character. “I doubt he’d remember that.”

Hilda pouted. “Holst remembers all of my friends.”

They entered the quarters and Hilda led them over to the pantry to help themselves with bread and wine. Cyril eyed the bottles and jars lining the top of the shelf and realized by the flavourful smell that battles were not the only thing exchanged at the Locket. Cyril’s mouth watered when he saw a jar of pickled fruit chutney, bright red under the thick glass.

Hilda must have noticed him eye it and plucked the jar off the shelf. “It’s not like they can say no to me,” she winked and they sat on the ground between the top shelves and bags of flour. All was quiet around him- the wind wheezing against the window was but a whisper to his ears-all he was focused on was Hilda pulling the cover off and letting the smell of his childhood pour out of the jar.

“So what is this?” Hilda asked as she picked it up and sniffed it.

“Ya never had it?” Cyril’s eyes widened. “Here, lemme show you.” He ripped a piece of the bread and poured some of the chutney on it. The fruits nestled on bed of bread that soaked up the sauce like a sponge. He raised his hand to her mouth, and after looking at the piece she carefully opened her mouth and bit into it, which caused some of the sauce to ooze out and drip down his fingers.

“And?” Cyril eyed her excitedly.

She chewed it carefully. “It’s… sour…sweet…spicy…it’s quite a lot.” She opened her mouth and he fed her another piece. “What is it?”

Cyril helped himself for a bite and couldn’t help but smirk at the zesty taste that he thought he’d never taste again. “It’s a pickled sauce from Almyra. This fruit here- my neighbour used to have an orchard of the kind and I’d drop by with other kids to help with the harvest. He’d then pickle them and share the extras with the village, but sometimes he’d sneak in some just for us.”

Hilda watched him sweetly. “Can I have some more?”

Cyril grinned when he continued sharing the food, alternating between giving a piece to her and eating one himself, just like the way his mother used to. They eventually ran out of bread and he almost sulked if Hilda hadn’t done it first.

“It’s not enough to just have a nibble, Cyril. Can I have more?” Cyril’s grin widened when she enjoyed it as much as he did, but before he was able to get more bread she grabbed his hand. She licked the drips that trailed down his wrist, her red-stained tongue cleaning her way up over his palm and to his fingers. Cyril was still and transfixed at the sight of his digits getting wrapped into her mouth.

“Definitely delicious. Actually-“ Hilda kissed his lips that were just as red, “-There, now I’m good.”

So much for keeping it together. She grabbed the wine bottle and pulled the cork out, but he wouldn’t have that. The wine spilled from the corner of her mouth when Cyril pulled her in by the waist.

“Nooo, my wine!” Hilda giggled when he tried to wrestle the bottle away from her, keeping her busy as he lapped the trail of wine dripping over her cheeks. Cyril managed to yank the bottle from her after licking the last drop off her chin, but then saw a drop on her collarbone and went for it as well. Hilda gasped and stopped flailing, to which he grinned with victory and took a long swig from the bottle. She whined. “Cyril!!! How can you be so selfish?!”

“Sorry, but I want it all too.” Cyril almost chortled at how devastated she looked, which lowered his guard enough for her to grab the bottle back from him. She shook it and when there was only a faint slosh she glared at him.

“You can’t expect me to live with just that, you hoarder!” She drew him in by the chin and propped his mouth open to dig in with her tongue, slivering over the mixture of flavours that were spiked with alcohol. Her firm hands clearly instructed him to relax and he let her take the lead. The glass bottle clinked against the ground and he was pressed back against the coarse cotton bag. She slurped her tongue out and collected her breath, red stains smeared over her mouth as she huffed against him.

Cyril tightened his core to resist sinking further into the flour. He tried not to be too conscious of the food around him, but he couldn’t help but squirm at the thought of damaging the pantry, and that’s when he remembered where they were. If someone found them his head would roll. It wasn’t a good idea to stick around too long.

“Wine’s pretty interesting. Not sure what to make of it.” Hilda continued tasting him while she weaved her hand around for the bottle. When she got a hold of it she pulled out and drank the leftover. She let the flavor simmer over her tongue as she tried to articulate its characteristics. “Hmm, I’m still not sure. I guess wine’s just not my forte.”

“Huh. I figured that’d be your stuff. So what do ya prefer?”

Hilda glanced at him and shrugged. “Depends on my mood really. These days I’m into Almyran flavours.”

She was challenging his composure through and through. He leaned forward and nuzzled his nose against hers. “Oh yea? What’s so good about them?”

They had to stop before they got too loose. It was so hard to keep that train of thought though with each of her pecks. “To be honest, they’re just plain awful,” she said. “Their taste is too strong so that nothing else compares to it. I end up being dissatisfied and wanting for more, but there’s never enough around for me.”

Never around? Was she meaning to say that he was neglecting her? He bit her lower lip in annoyance and she purred.

“What? It’s the truth.”

“Ya know what, I’m gonna let ya starve.” He pulled away but she wrestled him back to her. She refused to let him speak properly by feathering kisses every time he opened his mouth. “For- real- though-We have been here for a while; your brother may be looking for ya.”

“Please, Cyril. I need more…,” Hilda’s voice was desperate. _Ah._ And then it clicked. She meant that she wanted more of him in _bed._ Shit, he couldn’t think about it, otherwise he’d lose all sense of rationality, and this place was far too dangerous for him to allow that to happen. Cyril jerked her away and she finally got the message.

“Ugh, if only all these conspiracies could stop, I could finally have you without any of these stupid things interrupting us,” she pouted. She clasped his forearm and pulled him off of the flour sack. 

Cyril smiled sadly. “What can we do? The best I can do is to keep rescuing you so that I can at least get some mouth to mouth.”

She frowned with hurt. “Please don’t say that. My heart stopped yesterday.”

Cyril faintly remembered the terror in her voice when she treated him the previous day. At that split second moment of the Ragnarok flying towards them all he could think of was to protect Hilda. His body moved instinctively, and while he didn’t regret his action, he did feel remorse when her hands tended to him shakily. “Sorry.”

He licked his thumb and wiped her mouth to remove some of the staining. It was coming off, and Hilda started copying him to clean him. “And Cyril, please don’t do that again. I don’t want you to get hurt for my sake.”

He rested his thumb over her lips. “Sorry, but I won’t. I can’t stand the idea of ya getting hurt, so I will protect ya no matter what.”

She frowned. Her eyes were shimmering from the tears welling up. “Cyril. I’m not worth the protection.”

Cyril snapped at those words. “Why would ya say that? Hilda, I’d do anything for ya, whether that means coming back to the Locket or making myself your shield. If it means you’re safe I’d gladly throw my life away -“

“CYRIL!” Her voice shook and she clenched her hands against his arms. “Don’t you dare throw your life away. Don’t you dare…”

Cyril cupped her cheeks. He was stubborn on that point, but he saw that it terrified her, and he didn’t want her to feel that way. “I’m sorry.” Before she could argue he let go and put the wine bottles aside. There was no point in this debate when he knew that he’d do the same again. “So where to?”

Hilda didn’t look at him. She tried to steady her voice. “Ah, I guess we should head back to the gates.”

He followed after her but they were stopped abruptly at the door when he heard the booming sound of a man rush through.

“HILDA!”

The man went straight for Hilda and took her into his arms. Cyril thought he had seen men of grandiose strength before, but this man was something else entirely- the build, the height, the voice- everything about him was larger in scale than a normal person could retain. Yet he didn’t seem intimidating. He had an air of charisma around him that made him seem approachable. But maybe it was the blubbering way he cried about Hilda that made him seem relatable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are still reading, there might be some delays with the upcoming chapters as I'm rewriting and editing certain scenes. Is there anything in particular you want to know more about or see more of?


End file.
